November 8, 2000

Saying uncle is far from painful

By GARRET LEIVA
Herald editor
       Amazing how a 5-month-old can captivate an entire living room full of adults - especially the funny face uncle sitting on the couch - yet they can't control their own bladder.
      While I have no problem controlling my bodily functions, keeping a handle on bug-eyed-peek-a-boo baby faces is another matter. Silly animal noises, moving my lips back and forth with my forefinger, and tickling "feets" prove I've crossed into a new realm of adulthood. No longer am I known only by my first name.
      I have become Uncle Garret.
      The reason for this sea of change is a 12 pound bundle of joy. She arrived on allhallows eve with her adoptive parents after crossing two oceans, 11 time zones and 8,000 miles - just to get home. Her name is Tess "Tiasha" Washburn and I'm her Uncle Garret.
      As uncles go, there's Uncle Sam, Uncle Tom, and Jimmy Pigstaff sitting on your chest until you scream uncle. I fall under the husband of one's aunt definition. While the role of uncle is primarily one who helps, advises or encourages, it is also about 100 percent childhood fun with 1/100th of the diaper changes.
      Only uncles can make a quarter disappear behind an ear, perform the magic thumb trick, or get kids to "pull my finger." Uncles are also required to light campfires, tell ghost stories, administer birthday spankings and the pinch to grown an inch.
      Throughout my childhood, and even into my teen years, there were several men through family ties and friendships that I called uncle.
      Uncle Dick was a banker more comfortable in cowboy boots and straight-legged Levis than a two-piece suit. As Scout Master of Boy Scout Troop 990, he taught us how to tie a Lark's Head, start a fire with a battery and steel wool, and to pivot on our outside foot. He also taught us about respect and perseverance. In our family, he was the uncle who gave birthday spankings over bended knee; to which we responded with terrified delight.
      I never referred to Mr. Millard as Uncle Charlie; the moniker was assumed. Mr. Millard showed me (and probably my dad) how to bait a fish hook, the difference between bow and stern, and to moan like a Great Lakes freighter lost in the fog by blowing across a half-empty Pepsi bottle. He warned me about taking wooden nickels and taking nature for granted. He even let me pilot his houseboat "No Pressure" down the Au Sable River while wearing my captain's insignia baseball cap, and for that I'm eternally grateful.
      Uncle Bud sounds like a made up name, and I guess in some ways it was. While not a 'true' relative, Uncle Bud relished the role of advisor. The greatest single moment came while riding in his diesel pick-up out to a two-track where I had embedded my Chevette the night before. Over those 12 miles, he never asked under what circumstances I buried the car up to its rear axle in mud. Before I jumped out of the truck to hitch up the tow rope, however, he matter-of-factly quipped, "Those girls will get you in trouble every time."
      I'm not sure what kind of Uncle Garret I'll be to little Tess. I don't know any magic tricks and there are enough finger pullers in the family already. For the most part, I can light a campfire, tell a ghost story and tie a Lark's Head; although not at the same time. Plus, when it comes to dropped cookies the five second rule applies; 7 seconds if you blow the germs off the chocolate chips.
      It is amazing how a 5-month-old can keep a room of adults spellbound simply with a smile - even if it was only brought on by an uncontrollable bodily function. Or perhaps it had something to do with that bug-eyed-peek-a-boo uncle sitting on the couch.
      Grand Traverse Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or e-mail at gleiva@gtherald.com.