My Uncle Chris passed away this weekend. There is not going to be any sort of (big) ceremony. But for my own edification and processing, please allow me the indulgence of this anecdote that I hope will relate what kind of man I knew him to be.
His mother, my grandmother, passed away in 1991. Her funeral was, as I recall, the first one I can remember going to. I may have attended one or two as a wee lad but I don’t recall. I didn’t necessarily know what the decorum around attending funeral was. I just knew that everyone was sad and, maybe as a result of that, I was supposed to be sad, too.
If you were to ask my wife (who knows me better than anyone) about my perpetual emotional state, she would, at the count of zero-Mississippi, tell you that I live in a state of constant buoyancy and that sadness is not something that I really ‘do’.
But I was sad. I was. And not just because I thought I was supposed to be. There were, of course, many nuances of a funeral and, more specifically, a funeral home with which middle school aged me was unfamiliar. Including food.
I’m no longer a middle school aged person anymore - I’m a middle aged man and, sadly, have been to more funerals. 40 year old me now knows that many funeral homes have a kitchen and a lounge (which sounds more exclusive than it is - although, I suppose, one who crashed a funeral would be more likely to be ejected from said event than one who crashes a party... but I digress.). 10 year old me was unaware of the layout of funeral homes and was certainly unaware that friends and family brought many kinds of baked goods to the kitchen. My worldview was small - all I knew was that kitchens = food. I didn’t know how it got there but I didn’t care. Free cookies? HELL YES!
After spending an exhausting (and, let’s admit it, boring) first and most of a second day at a funeral home, we were all getting pretty sick of chocolate cookies. I can’t believe that about me either. Near dinner time of the second day, we all kind of wanted, you know, something else.
And this is where Uncle Chris comes in. With a bag full of McDonald’s. Literally
Now, I should tell you that I have loved McDonald’s my entire life. I could put away 30 Chicken McNuggets right now and I’ve already eaten dinner. Six McDoubles? Not a problem. If you were to walk into my house with a bag full of food from the Golden Arches, I would figure out how to steal about half of your french fries.
My eyes lit up when I saw that bag with the big “M” on the front of it. And my Uncle Chris saw it happen.
I made my way over to him with an angle on some fries I tried to act sad and hungry at the same time. I tried to approximate the look that a dog gives when it hasn’t eaten since it’s last meal a few hours earlier. But mostly, I wanted to know where, exactly, he got the McDonald’s. So I asked.
“Well, Stephen, I got it downstairs. There’s a McDonald’s next to the kitchen here.”
Why wouldn’t I believe that?! It made total sense! McDonald’s is food, food comes from a kitchen, and food (generally) just magically appears for a 5th grader.
“Wait...” I started. “I didn’t see a McDonald’s down there.”
“It’s down there, you just must have missed it. Why don’t you ask you dad for some money so you can buy some. And if he says ‘no’, I’ll buy you some.”
JACKPOT! Free McDonald’s either way! “Okay!” I said, with probably too much enthusiasm that one should exude at their grandmother’s funeral.
I walked over to my dad and stood next to him kind of quietly for a minute or so. Then... “Uh... dad? Can I have some money for some McDonald’s?”
“What do you mean, ‘have some money for McDonald’s’?” My dad asked.
“Uncle Chris has some. He said you would give me some money for some McDonald’s downstairs. And that if you didn’t, he would, but I wasn’t supposed to tell you that last part.”
“What to you mean, ‘money for some McDonald’s downstairs’?”
“Uncle Chris said there’s a McDonald’s downstairs next to the kitchen.” I stated, quite confidently.
“Stephen, do you think there’s really a McDonald’s down there that no one has told you about for the past two days or do you think he’s pulling your leg?”
I looked over at my Uncle Chris and his face had turned bright red, his eyes disappeared into a smile, and I thought he was going to spit his Big Mac all over the lounge because he was laughing so hard.
I never did get any McDonald’s that night. But I did get this memory and that’s way better.
I’m going to miss you, Uncle Chris. I’ll see you when I get there. And save some McDonald’s for me.
