RIP uncle W.

My uncle died yesterday, but not from the disease. He was sober for 30+ years. Here's one of my favorite stories about him.

We were all gathered around my aunt's dinner table. I must have been around eight because I was walking around the table asking each relative to tell me what their favorite color was. Things like that are only important to eight-year-old girls. The answers I got went something like this: "blue," "blue," "green," "teal," until I came to my uncle. He looked at me and said his favorite color was "clear." Then he laughed.

My uncle was into mind expansion and this blew mine. My tiny thoughts went something like this: Wrong, uncle, clear isn't even a color. Or is it? Maybe what he's saying is all colors are equally beautiful and it was wrong for me to ask a person to choose one over another? 


Honestly, I didn't even have a favorite color and here was a grown up telling me I didn't have to.

I'll miss your wacky sense of humor, Uncle W.