Tonight's blog is a promise I am keeping to my favorite nephew. (He reminds me, every once and a while, that he is also my only nephew.) Yet he is still my favorite. If you have followed this blog, you would notice that I have written in the last month about a beloved aunt, who really has no blood relationship to me, yet she has been my favorite aunt, and more. This is also true of my nephew, Michael. I believe that relatives who are chosen are more special than those that we are related to by blood, and by no choice of our own. They are special for that very reason, because they are chosen.
This week, my nephew celebrated a very special birthday. This Wednesday, Michael turned fourteen. Fourteen years must seem like a long time to him, but it seems to me that it has been but a mere twinkle in time. It seemed only yesterday that I held him in my arms as a six month old baby. It seems only yesterday morning that I would bend over his crib and stick my index finger in my mouth and pull it out quickly to make a somewhat wet popping noise that he laughed at, again and again. He never seemed to tire of it. It seemed that it was only yesterday noon that his father talked me into using my electric shaver to give him his first haircut. I was opposed to the idea, telling his father that children hate their first haircut, and that he would hate me for a long time. His father assured me that I was wrong. Within five minutes, he was crying and wouldn't look at me for almost a week. When I came to the house the following week, he rushed to his father's arms; and, once safely there, touched the left side of his head like he was shaving it, saying in a soft voice, "Buzz." So much for his father's opinion.
It seemed like only yesterday afternoon that his parents and I took him to a Japanese/Korean restaurant to have lunch. He was only four, and dressed in a little golf shirt and shorts. While we were eating, one of the waitresses came over to coo over how cute he was. He never picked his head up from his food to look at her. He just pointed to me and said, matter of factly, "Talk to my Uncle Chris." Once, when I stopped by the house, I was talking to his mother about a recent visit to the store, Bed, Bath and Beyond. "I went there once, Uncle Chris." He said. "I saw the bed. I saw the bath. But I couldn't find the beyond."
He has come over my house every Halloween in costume to take a picture with me. And every Christmas day, my sister and I have gone over to his house to exchange presents.
He is a very bright young man. Always has been. He has done very well in school, and many a time, I have helped him with book reports and projects. However, his first request for help sticks in my mind like no other. He was in kindergarten. One night, he called in tears. "Uncle Chris, you're a teacher." I told him I was, wondering what had happened in his first year at school to make him so upset. "What's wrong?" I asked him. "I can't tie my shoe laces and I am going to fail kindergarten." He sobbed. I told him that I would be right up. (He lives six houses up from mine.) When I got there, I realized the problem immediately. He was left-handed, and the method the teacher used was for right-handers. Problem solved.
Aside from the one Christmas when he was very young and ran to his mother when I called him Bud because he thought I had called him butt, we have had a great uncle-nephew relationship. We have played games of chess together as well as other games he has gotten. (He is a better chess player that I am.) I brought him into school a few years ago for "Bring your Child to School Day." We have taken walks, shared our shared love of sushi, and this summer, will go to Princeton together. He was a pall bearer at my mother's funeral. That has seemed but a few hours ago. When I spoke to him a few nights after the funeral, I asked him what he had thought of the poem I had read as her eulogy. "It was an interesting metaphor comparing your mother's life to a long stem rose." I swear, sometimes I think that he is just a short forty-five year old. In short, he has been a very special part of my life, and I look forward to his holding that position for a long time to come. I am very proud to be his uncle. I hope he knows that.
Most nights, I have included a poem in my post, as this is a blog about words and their importance. Tonight, however, I am including a poem, just not mine. This poem was written by Michael a number of years ago. It was one he was very proud of.
Friendship
Michael Burkard
Friendship is a bond
Between you and another.
When you have a friend,
You have sort of a brother.
Friendships come.
Friendships go.
But in your heart,
you’ll always know
That the gift of friendship
That God has bestowed
Is ours
To keep,
Love
And hold.
Happy Birthday, Michael!
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