The generation ahead of us is passing away and in its wake we are left wondering if we are ready to be the "older" generation. My Uncle Jim, age 89, passed away the other day. He was married to my mom's oldest sister and I have vivid memories of holidays spent out west in Gimli and seeing all the aunts, uncles and "cousins by the dozens". Uncle Jim in particular brings back clear and crisp visions of the cottage they had in Gimli where we gathered before heading to the beach or for the Islendingadagurinn (Icleandic Festival) that happened right across the street in the park. We would go back and forth all day, using the washroom, checking in with parents and stopping to eat.
And when you went, you always ran into Uncle Jim. I should say, running into a grumpy Uncle Jim. That was his personality. He would tell you to slow down, be careful in the cottage, be sure you weren't messing with things and if you did - watch out! You were sure to get a "talking to". Uncle Jim belonged with the "parent" category. There was no spoiling coming from him and he had no qualms about telling you how you were misbehaving. Me and my siblings were the youngest of 17 cousins and me and my "little" sister were the very youngest by quite a bit, so by the time we were running around he had been through a whole host of others that I am sure seemed a blur to him. With us, he could give quality scolding time to - how lucky we were!
So it came as a complete surprise when I grew up that Uncle Jim was really a big "softie" when it came to kids. Yes, he had a gruff exterior, a curmudgeonly persona, but inside he was just a pile of mushy goo and the person to bring that out was his first grandchild, Amanda. The 2nd and 3rd generation of nieces and nephews climbed all over the guy. They didn't jump when they heard his voice or shy away. They gladly went up to him to hear him speak and ignore any of his admonishments and do whatever they were going to do anyways. Uncle Jim became that funny guy who pretended to be gruff but was really a big teddy bear underneath.
And I guess I always knew that. Who else would let a stream of children flow through their cottage (a place of leisure!) all summer long. Who else would host and host and host again even though it meant cleaning up constantly, getting everything ready for the onslaught and fixing the things that would inevitably be broken during the foray.
Uncle Jim had his warts like we all do, but underneath those warts he was a hard-working man, a person who kept himself well read, a father who tried to do his best to make sure his children were well prepared for adulthood, a husband who had met his match with his wife (thank goodness those Icelandic-Canadian women are strong!), and he let himself become a part of the extended Narfason family. And I have to stress that part - he chose to be a part of a family that was opinionated, large, boisterous, demanding and never-ending. And that wasn't the way he had been raised. It didn't fit with the controlled family environment he had been a part of so to choose to let yourself by swept along on that Narfason wave was a great leap of faith for Uncle Jim.
And we are all better for it. Thank you Uncle Jim for all the memories. Summers were made because you opened your door at the cottage and I see now that you were opening your heart to let us all in.