Wings Of A Moped - a memory of my Uncle Tom On the crisp autumn evening of October 29th as my refereeing crew was preparing for the first round of Iowa High School Football playoffs I got a message that my Uncle Tom had passed away that late afternoon. Cancer had racked his body and had taken his life, yet he was a survivor. My Uncle Tom was born with cerebral palsy. And as if in another time the doctors had told my grandparents to forget this one, folks, he wont amount to anything, he is going to be a vegetable. Well, God sure knows what He is doing because he was born into the Richardson clan. Having the love of his parents and the controlled chaos in a house on Clearview Ave with eight siblings my Uncle Tom with CP went on to live a life of wit and charm that included marriage, home ownership, and working for DuPont. While standing in that locker room reading the message of my Uncle Toms passing my mind raced back to the late summer of my 12th year on this planet in the state of Delaware. My parents had purchased a house on an acreage outside of Kennett Square and although I was excited for the move I was leaving the utopia of an enchanted childhood of living in Arden, Delaware. Life had been a whirlwind for me up to that point. I had a bat-shit crazy birth mother that popped in out of my life worse than a ping-pong ball at a Chinese table tennis tournament, a father that was building an empire, and a German stock woman that goosed stepped into my life bringing law and order a few years earlier. And to top it all off while we waited for the new house to be renovated we were to live at my grandparents. My parents, brother, sister, and myself sharing one bedroom. For two or three months. One word came to this 12 year old mind. Trapped. Across the hall lived my Uncle Tommy. And he must have felt my despair. After about two weeks of feeling like a gerbil on a hamster wheel my Uncle Tom stuck his head in the door... well, more like jerked his head in the door... And with a tilt to his head and a gleam in his eye he uttered out Follow me buddy. I followed his awkward gate through the house, down the back stairs, around the retaining wall, and down the slope of the driveway we stopped at the garage door. After a few attempts my uncle got the old wooden garage door open and there it stood. My Uncle Toms moped. Balanced on its kickstand. And besides the slight dent in it from when Uncle Tom had ridden it into the driveway wall, it was perfect. My uncle cleared his throat and when I turned he said Here ya go kid and threw, not tossed, but threw the keys at me, which proceeded to land behind me in a bush. After a few hilarious attempts of a man with CP and an awkward preteen starting a moped we finally got it fired up. With a few passes up and down the block on Hillside Street and some instructions on the fine art of mopeding my uncle waved me back into the driveway like a landing crew waving a cargo plane in at Dover AFB. My Uncle Tom thumped me on the back and said As long as youre here she is yours. Now go have some fun buddy! I took off down the hill of Clearview Avenue towards Philadelphia Pike at top moped speed. And as if it were a moment from a Peter Hedges novel or a scene from an episode of Wonder Years, I turned around and saw that crooked CP wave, that endearing smile, and infectious laugh of my Uncle Tom. And I heard him bellow Go get em kid! Thanks for my first wings of freedom Uncle Tom. I love you. P.S. Could you please have God put a hand in the Phillies organization during the off season? Thanks a bunch.
Posted on: Sat, 22 Nov 2014 05:32:57 +0000
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