A Life Well-Lived

Tony (l) and my dad (r) , about 1950 or so.

When we were kids, he was just Tony. He was too cool to be an "Uncle" but by the time my kids came along, he liked being called Uncle Tony. In time though, he made up his own moniker. He referred to himself as my dad's Big Bro AND our Uncle Toe. Henceforth, he would like to be called "Big Toe."

But he was everyone's favorite uncle. He loved crossword puzzles, puns and barbecue. He could play the piano by ear, and traveled the world. Chronically late, my grandfather once referred to him as "The Late Mr. P____."

Now he's gone. Pancreatic cancer is a swift killer. He started feeling ill around Christmas, and went into the hospital in January, and now we've said good bye. It wasn't a very long time, really. He would have been 75 in June. 

Afterwards, when making all the arrangements, I asked my dad, his 8-years younger brother, if he'd known of anyone who hadn't liked Uncle Tony. "No," my dad replied. "Everyone just did. Either they liked him, or loved him." 

Big Toe and and my dad, a few Christmases ago