To the editor:

Do you have a “Black Sheep” in your family? Well, according to my Mom and her sisters, Uncle George was ours. It was because Uncle George never seemed to hold a job and he just traveled all over doing nothing. However, to us kids, Uncle George was a Roman gladiator driving a chariot.

Uncle George was a World War I veteran. It’s not known whether he was wounded in action or never left the States. No matter, it seems that whenever he got low on money he would check into a veteran’s hospital for a few days to “recuperate.”

On occasion, he would return home and show the family photos of all the places he had been. Beautiful cities, mountains, beaches and even hula girls in Hawaii. Of course, Mom wouldn’t let us kids see such things, but Uncle George would. I would hear Mom and her sisters talk about Uncle George staying in hotels. Of all things! He used terms as “checking in and checking out.” What language!

Once, on one of his trips home, he had slung over his back an army tent and utensils. He needed a place to pitch it, so Dad let him set up on a patch of land we had. Us kids, my brother and I and some south end kids, went to visit him at his campsite.

To our wondrous eyes we were exposed to unimaginable things. He was cooking a T-bone steak over the fire. A whole T-bone steak for just himself. We had never seen a T-bone steak let alone a whole piece of meat for one person. And olives! It was totally new to us kids. Seems Uncle George lived a life of splendor that was only dreamed of by the likes of us. Black sheep my eye!

Uncle George is buried in Arlington National Cemetery. A hero to us kids no matter what our parents thought. I think of him whenever I see a T-bone steak. Maybe I could have been a Black Sheep.

Don Hill

Seymour