Chuck
I was never a kid. At least I never felt like a kid. Around the holidays, it was always more entertaining to listen to the adults talk than it was to sit at the kids table. My Uncle Steve always held a particular fascination for me. He’d show up on his Harley Davidson, that you could hear coming a mile away. My Mom would make him stub out his cigar before coming in to the house, but that didn’t stop the smell of smoke from lingering on him. He’d stay long enough to have dinner and dessert and then would hop back on his motorcycle and take off.
I would always beg my Mom to let me take a ride on his motorcycle. She always said no. Uncle Steve would climb on his hog, wink at me, and snarl out the words, “When you’re older, kid.”
When I was in high school, I made up my mind that I wanted to be just like my Uncle. I would make a point to ask if he was coming for whatever holiday dinner. I monopolized his conversation. I wanted to learn everything about him. I caught my Dad laughing at me one day when he caught me looking at my reflection in the mirror. I was holding a carrot stick in my mouth, in imitation of Steve. I told my Dad I was going to stop shaving.
“Yeah that peach fuzz is gonna be magnificent,” he’d laugh and jab his older brother in the side. “Looks like he wants to be a grumpy old fart like you when he grows up. Eh, Steve?!” Uncle Steve would smile at me, but never laughed.
It made it all the sadder when he passed away from a motorcycle accident. Of course my Dad was torn up about losing his brother, but I was the one who seemed to take it the hardest. I didn’t have much of an appetite. I stayed home sick from school a couple days. It wasn’t until my father came back from my Uncle Steve’s place with a package that I started to perk up.
With instructions that Uncle Steve left for my Dad, he found a trunk out in his garage. On the trunk, a tag hung from the handle that simply read, “For Charles.” When my Dad brought it home to me I took it to my room and placed the trunk on my bed. I took a deep breath before opening it up. I could smell cigar smoke. It smelled like my Uncle Steve’s house.
Opening up the trunk I found several carefully folded articles of clothes, some tattered hats, and some unmarked boxes. A sharply creased note sat on top of it all with the words, “Read Me First.”
Dear Charles,
If you’re reading this note then it means that I am no longer around. Know that whatever happened to me, I was doing what I loved. I decided a long time ago to be the man I always wanted to be. I stopped living to make others happy and started making myself happy. You’ve had that same spark in you as well. One day you’ll be your own man. A man that I’m sure I would’ve been proud to call a friend as well as a nephew. Even though I won’t see it happen, I want to help you grow into the man you want to be. I saw the way you looked at me. I know that you wanted to be like me. I can make that happen. Just the same way someone made it happen for me.
The trunk contains many of my belongings that I set aside specifically for the man you would one day be. Additionally, it contains some items to help you become the man you want to be. The same items were presented to me when I made my choice.
The suspenders will make you a man of great size, not only in height, but in weight, a man who loves to indulge and gives in to pleasure.
The pipe will make you a learned man of great importance, a stately man who will know his way around fine food, wine, and the ways of the world.
The flannel shirt will make you a man of great strength, who lives for being in the outdoors and getting back to nature.
The cigar will make you a man with a carefree attitude and is worldly-wise, who lives by his rules and enjoys his freedom.
The dog tags will make you a man of strong character, a commanding presence that many will be drawn to their fearlessness and leadership.
Once you choose, you will grow into a version of that man. A version of that man shaped by your desires. The other contents of the box will be shaped to reflect your choice.
I was stunned by what I was reading. My Uncle Steve was helping me. He knew how much I looked up to him. As I looked over the other items, deep down I knew which one I wanted. I remembered my Uncle Steve always showing up to our house with a cigar firmly clamped in the corner of his mouth. I wanted to be like my Uncle. I had to choose the cigar.
I carefully picked up the cigar and held it to my nose. It was his brand. It smelled like him. I placed it in my mouth. Dare I light it? There was a box of matchsticks in the trunk as well. I couldn’t resist. I needed to be reminded of my Uncle.
As I lit the cigar, I took care to puff on it while making sure it was lit, just like I’d watched my Uncle do so many times of the years. I couldn’t hold the smoke in for long and I sputtered out a cough. My lungs burned. It wouldn’t be long before my parents would smell the cigar smoke and come to investigate. I open the window to help ventilate the room. I continued to puff away. Each drag off the cigar was becoming easier as I got the hang of it.
I began looking at the other items in the trunk. Inside the box were a few more cigars of the same brand, a bottle of beard oil, some sunglasses, and some keys. I picked up the keys and recognized the insignia as the Harley symbol. They were keys to his motorcycle. I sniffed the beard oil. It was musky and a little like warm leather. Lifting up the folded clothes I noticed many of these were soiled looking. I recognized them as the type of clothes my Uncle Steve used to wear when he worked on his bike. Cigar firmly planted in my mouth, I held up the shirt to my body and looked at myself in the mirror. The shirt seemed like it was the perfect fit. I began to try it on. Unbuttoning my shirt, I tossed it to the bed. Replacing it with the shirt my Uncle Steve left for me. I stood in front of the mirror admiring my appearance. I was already becoming adept at moving the cigar from one side of my mouth to the other. I picked up the tattered hat and placed it on my head. My face appeared somewhat dirty. I presumed it was dirt of dust from the trunk or clothing. Went I want to wipe my face my hand met beard stubble. Stunned I moved closer to get a better look. I had a hard time grasping on to what I was seeing. A beard began pushing itself from my face Reddish brown in color, I could almost hear as it grew with a slow steady speed. Half inch… Inch… Two inches… Four… It continued! The beard concealed my neck and was making it’s was towards the middle of my chest. What started out as reddish in color, seemed to lighten a little as well. My mustache dulled from a coppery color to a whitish blond. Two streak of the same whitish color became pronounced from the corners of my mouth down the length of my new beard. The cigar poked out from my bushy face. I adjusted the hat to find that my hair on the top of my head had lightened as well to match the beard.
I no longer looked like a high school kid mourning the loss of his Uncle. Now I looked like an adult standing in a kids room. I took a big drag off the cigar and blew it out my nose. Giving a heavy sigh I returned to the contents of the box. At the bottom I found another letter.
By now I hope that you’ve made your choice and you’re happy with the man you’ve become. This same choice was given to me many years ago by our maternal Grandfather. He told me a similar story as I’m telling you now. He told me that once I made my choice no one but me would remember that I was your older brother. Just the same as no one will remember your old life. All they will know is the man you’ve become.
I know more than finished reading the letter when my Dad came in to my room.
“Chuck, we really appreciate you stopping by. Maggie about I know how much you care for our son as though he was your own. I gotta ask you to not smoke in the house, though. Your sister would kill you if she knew you were smoking here especially since she is pregnant.”
“What?! Oh! Sure… sure… Of course, Da-… Um, Tim. Sorry. So sorry for your loss. I just had to stop by. I’ll be on my way though.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner? Maggie told me she hasn’t seen you in forever.”
“No. I couldn’t. Thanks, though. You guys need your time to mourn.”
“I appreciate it, Chuck.”
I picked up the trunk and made my way out to my motorcycle that I found waiting for me in the drive way. I strapped the trunk behind me, put on my sunglasses and helmet, and made my way down the road.
Stuck as Santa 