THOUGHTS AT LARGE June 15, 2006

"Graduation"
c. 2006 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(6-06)




Being an uncle is important work. Beyond the inherited responsibility of helping to instill family traditions, this duty provides a path toward mutual betterment. It offers a chance to mentor another life with careful prodding and insight, while learning from the process.
For this writer, a favored uncle was Frederick Ice. As our youngest paternal relative, he was most able to relate to youthful awkwardness. Fred played games with us, and shared the experience of reading ‘MAD MAGAZINE.’ My brother and I learned the basics of football from him, including how to properly ‘pass’ the pigskin. (He always reminded me of JETS Quarterback Joe Namath.) We practiced kicking with a makeshift goalpost he constructed by the family barn. Though his sports career was limited to high school play, Fred seemed like a professional athlete from our childhood perspective.
Later, our uncle developed an aura of ‘cool’ that was enviable. He drove a Datsun 280-Z, and rode a sporty Honda CB750-F motorcycle. A college education in electronics yielded world travel, and prosperity for our beloved kin. He was gifted, and popular. I hoped that some day, my own life would gleam with a similar intensity.
When my sister started her family, the tag of uncle came with a sense of importance. This was magnified because I had no children of my own. I wanted to be the sort of helper and role model that Fred had represented. Yet strangely, my life seemed unsuited to the task. I worked without ambition in a common retail establishment. There was no world travel on the horizon. Instead, I journeyed from flea market to thrift store, in search of discarded collectibles. My home boasted oddball treasures - old books, radios, coffee mugs, vinyl records, beer cans, and guitars. I drove a rusty Ford pickup truck, and rode a worn-out 1977 Harley. Black T-shirts and denim were the staple elements of my wardrobe. I wrote and recorded songs in a basement studio, while clinging to the notion of industry success. My hair and beard were thick. I looked like a vagabond minstrel. Thankfully, the kids overlooked these eccentric habits.
While Audrey, Justin, and Steven grew with promise, I wanted to give them something more than my own pale example. It seemed proper to demonstrate the value of our family craft – writing. So I started a series of stories that involved the kids. Each was a trip of fantasy, but placed in the familiar environment of Geauga. The first installment was titled “THE BRAIN STEALER.” I penned it in May, 1996:

“It was a sunny day… the sort of afternoon in mid-summer when the dry gravel and dirt produces a gray dusting on the wind that seems to cover everything. Baby Steven coughed slightly as he played in the bed of Uncle Rod’s pickup truck. Sweat trickled off of his tiny forehead. Across the road, the neighbor’s German Shepherd barked with irritation. The mournful wail of Garth Brooks could be heard. All was as it had been for years.
Suddenly, Audrey Emm burst through the screen door at the side of their wooden porch. ‘Uncle Rod!’ she screeched tearfully. ‘Come quick! Come quick!!’
He turned away as Steven sat down on the spare tire and fumbled with a dandelion. ‘What’s got you all excited?’
She stamped her foot and the porch vibrated with a crack and a thump. ‘Now, Uncle Rod! It’s Justin! There is something terribly wrong!’
They ran inside as Mother Emm grabbed the baby. ‘Little Woman! If this is another one of your pranks…’
‘No, Mom!’ Audrey pleaded. ‘You’ll see! Something has happened to Justin!’
They entered the living room… to find Justin sitting on the couch. He held the remote control for the television tightly. There was a look of emptiness over his face. He flipped from channel to channel, pausing only a moment between clicks of the control. ‘This is the good part…’
‘What do you mean??’ Audrey cried. There was no coherent response.
‘Give me that remote!’ Mother Emm snapped. Justin’s fingers curled ever more tightly around the clicker. The TV continued to hold him in thrall. ‘This is the good part…’ he said in a monotone. ‘This is the good part…’

My tale depicted the brood having to battle a magic figure who had taken control of Justin’s mind through the television. It produced laughs, and good cheer. Depicting my nephew with original verbiage was easy, because he was a typical boy. His clumsy mannerisms were perfect for a child’s story. I called the series “Adventures With Audrey,” and later “Weird Adventures.” The colorful storyline endured for ten issues. I drew covers for the episodes, and self-published them, individually. (Copies were made at an office supply store.) They soon became a familiar component of household literature for every branch of the family.
Soon afterward, I began to lose track of my sister’s children. Career aspirations drove me to seek a promotion to retail management. Freelance writing continued, and I joined THE MAPLE LEAF in 1998. Corporate proposals were drafted for my employer. I attempted business consulting as a sideline. And then… the oldest child was ready to leave for college.
Something in that moment of celebration seemed to re-awaken my family spirit.
As we rejoiced over Audrey’s passage to adulthood, I noticed that Justin was no longer the skinny youngster that had giggled at my collection of yard-sale relics. He was now ‘Juztyn,’ a shaggy, creative trouper! Like his older sister, the growing teen showed great artistic ability. But he also had developed a remarkable understanding of music. After being schooled in piano by his paternal grandmother, Juztyn mastered the accordion, guitar, and bass. He joined ‘The Chardon High Polka Band’ and performed in front of audiences across the county. We soon began to shop together for guitars, and equipment. While visiting stores like ‘Geauga Pawn,’ I recalled my own days as a struggling rocker. A new bond was created. I felt as if a torch had been passed to the next generation!
This revived love of music helped inspire more writing projects for myself. I began to reflect on the cultural importance of tuneful rebellion. When Justin and his friends formed UNDS (The Underground Ninja Death Squad) I was spellbound by their energy. It was the same sort of rock ‘n’ roll exuberance that I had felt over twenty years ago, in New York.
On Saturday, June 3rd, Justin graduated with the Class of 2006 from Chardon High School. It was his day, in every sense. Again, the family celebrated our blessings. I was full of pride and admiration. But another important degree was quietly bestowed on that day. I had truly fulfilled my own mission… as ‘Uncle Rod.’

FROM THE GEAUGA COUNTY MAPLE LEAF