by Richard Peck
I hadn’t thought that far. You know how I am. I take my sweet time.
“I married your uncle, so I’m your other uncle. And I’ve never had a nephew. You’ll have to show me the ropes.”
Mr. McLeod never had a niece either. But, hey, why spoil the moment?
Then my uncles turned to go, off into the blurry afternoon, looking good. They seemed to mingle with the guests on the lawn, but they were working their way to the Kia, Uncle Paul and Mr. McLeod. He’s still Mr. McLeod on this page. I can’t turn on a dime. But I’ll get there. I got this far.
The string quartet was playing dance tunes now, so Mom was looking around for Dad.
Dad
Uncle Paul
Mr. McLeod
The three I wanted to be.
And Grandpa, still there in our hearts, except for about a tablespoon of him in Wrigley Field.
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