Nieces, Nephews

We called our mother's brother Uncle Danny, and he meant the world to me. He was tall and a bit Hollywood-esque, a beachcomber and an antiques expert, a maker of the most exquisite Christmas ornaments and a wit who held his smile behind his hand. He was someone who brought us the craziest presents wrapped in used paper bags, and yet it was those gifts that I waited for each year, for my gifts were always crazy in the way that I once was crazy, and sometimes, too, they were dear. Pearl earrings. Something reminiscent of Betty Boop.

I am an aunt to five young people whom I love enormously. I have watched them grow into a mathlete, a photographer, a track star, a star swimmer, and a pianist. Or: a physicist, a fashion plate, a cat- and llama-loving wit, a fisherman, and a gymnast. Or: a debate-team judge, a softball player, a writer/artist with a talent for chemistry, a lovable heart, and a talk-a-mile-a-minute show stopper.

Anyway you look at them, they are rather beautiful in my eyes (their eyes are all manner of color—a variety of blues and a deep hazel). I'm not sure if I'm the crazy aunt—too quiet, too reserved, the one who rarely talks but always listens—but I hope that looking back someday, years from now, they will know how I loved them.