Life Unfiltered ~ Just Booby Wooby and Uncle Jr.

I was riding on the freeway when a big truck passed me by, and before I knew it, I was smiling. Not just a little smile either, but one of those smiles that comes from somewhere deep down in your memory.

That truck made me think about my Uncle Jr.

He used to be a truck driver and drove one of those big rigs for years. I can still picture him out there on the road, driving from state to state, probably looking cool doing it too. Uncle Jr. was one of those men who had a presence about him. Even when he was not trying, you noticed him.

One memory that always comes back to me is the time he took me to see the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus while we were in New York. Now, that was a show to remember. The lights, the animals, the music, the people flying through the air — to a little girl, it felt like magic. But honestly, the best part was not even the circus. The best part was being there with him.

Just me and Uncle Jr.

Or as he called me, his “Booby Wooby.”

Now let me say this clearly: I hated that name. I mean hated it. But when Uncle Jr. called me that, I answered. I might have rolled my eyes in my little-girl way, but I answered. Because that was his name for me, and somehow that made it special.

My Uncle Jr. was like a giant to me. Not just because he was tall, but because of how he carried himself. He was one of those men who did not have to do too much. His presence spoke before he did. And just like my mother, he had style.

When he was driving, he might have been in his jeans and sweater, doing what he had to do out on the road. But when he cleaned up, Baby, he was sharp from head to toe. Clean as a whistle. Clothes pressed. Shoes right. Cologne smelling good. And I am not talking about that cheap granddaddy Old Spice smell either. The men in my life growing up wore real cologne. They smelled like grown men who knew who they were.

The day Uncle Jr. came to get me for the circus, we were both looking good.

My mama was all about making sure I was put together. Hair bows had to match the outfit. Socks had to be right. Shoes had to be clean. That was the price of being the only girl and spoiled. And let me not forget, along with my matching outfit, I had on my burgundy Michael Jackson jacket. Baby, I know I thought I was doing something. I even had a little purse to carry that day. A purse! I probably did not have anything important in it, but I had one, and that was enough.

I remember eating all kinds of sweets that day. Popcorn, candy, maybe cotton candy too. I was living my best little-girl life. It felt like we were gone for days, even though I know we were not. That is how special moments feel when you are a child. Time stretches out. Everything feels bigger. The day feels longer. The memories stay forever.

It was just Booby Wooby and Uncle Jr.

Looking back now, I realize how blessed I was to have men like him in my life. My uncle — and not just him, but the men I grew up around — were amazing men. They had standards. They had style. They had humor. They knew how to show love, even if they did not always say it in a soft and mushy way.

Uncle Jr. was a real role model in my life. I never saw him out of place. He carried himself with dignity. He could joke with you, love on you, and if needed, check somebody real quick. But unlike my mama, his tone was calmer. My mama could cut you with her words if she had to. Uncle Jr. did not have to raise his voice much. His tallness did some of the talking for him.

Nobody messed with Uncle Jr.

Even later, when he got sick, he still had that same spirit. He still came around cracking jokes and making us laugh. He carried his breathing machine like it was the coolest side bag a man could have. That was Uncle Jr. He did not let sickness take his personality. He still showed up as himself.

Strong.

Funny.

Sharp.

Loved.

His wife Karen called him a gentle giant, and that is exactly what he was. A gentle giant with style, a good smell, a calm voice, and a laugh that could fill a room.

It is funny how one truck passing by on the freeway can bring all of that back. One moment I’m just driving, minding my business, and the next thing I know, I’m back in New York, dressed up with my matching hair bows, wearing my burgundy Michael Jackson jacket, holding my little purse, eating sweets at the circus with my Uncle Jr.

To know him was a true blessing.

And I guess, no matter how old I get, somewhere inside of me, I will always be his Booby Wooby. 💛💛

                                                                   Augustus Macon

                                                                      My Uncle Jr.