A different drummer

Born to  a Midwestern couple back in the middle of the twentieth century when boys were supposed to be boys, he was all boy.  No one even had an inkling that he saw nothing at all recognizable past six feet. His teacher thought he was "retarded" and sent him for special testing with a psychiatrist.

He and the psychiatrist played chess and later the parents were informed that he was very bright, but very strong willed.  Glasses and a little talk about differences (mainly that if the words said color me blue, he was NOT to color it red even if he thought it looked better,) got him through first grade.

By second grade he'd found his groove, excelling in anything he liked or found interesting and horrifically failing at anything else.

His size made him appear to be a super candidate for sports, but early on he disabused everyone of this.  Instead the neighbors would call to tell his mother he was "sleeping" in the sun in the middle of their driveway, or sidewalk.

By fifth grade he was expected to choose an instrument and learn to play it.  He began with the oboe, but quit, telling his mother that by the time he got the sound out, the other students were already on the next one.  They switched him to Bass Violin because he was tall and strong.  He carried that to and from school for several months before he balked.  He didn't like doing that.  Music was no more his forte than sports.

It became obvious that his interests were not going to lie in that suburban ideal of the perfect son, or to put it in other words, he marched to a different drummer.  He did have other attributes. He could walk out and pick up an injured animal without a second's thought, or trouble.  He was loyal to the death when he believed in something and he was strong.

Shunning formal education left him working at a factory and later working as the custodian for a nursing home, but his health wasn't so good.  He had been expected to die before he was three from a serious kidney problem.  Add years of smoking and drinking, several bypass surgeries, seven stints in his arteries and the wear and tear of overworking his back and it was amazing he was still up and around.

He managed to weather five marriages, have four children, seven grandchildren, one great grandchild, give up drinking and draw wild animals like St. Francis of Assisi. He never learned to follow the crowd, or achieve what traditional society requires of successful people, but he was every child's favorite uncle, a loyal best friend and a brother who is still always there for me.

And today is his birthday!