seekerofvisions
05-30-2006, 11:32 PM
you know, everyone seems to have these family members with these quirky little nicknames like, 'sam the gimbo', 'long legs slim', or even 'fast legs eddie'. I just want an uncle named, ‘chuchi’. I have no idea what the name means or what it's supposed to be short for, but i think it's kind of a cool little name.
"hey, this is my uncle chuchi." i would say and uncle chuchi, with his one squinted eye, one leg shorter than the other due to a bouncing betty in 'nam, would lean forward, pushing back his frizz of slowly fading black hair and say in a gruffy voice, "hey, girl, whatcha been up to, huh? no good, i bet. well, lemme tells ya, bad behaviour only ever leads to two things... bare foot and pregnant by the time you're 20 or dancy naked in nudie bars and with boyfriends named moe. neither is good. ya got yer whole life ahead of ya, kid. now git outta here before i smack ya." and then he would wink, slap some money in my hand to buy a candy bar, give me a shove and say, "tell yer ma i said hey and to give me a ring once in a while. i almost forgot i hadda sister."
all my girl friends would think he was leering but it's only because he had a lazy eye and all my male friends would think he's in the mob, but really he's a good guy with a metal plate in his head due to shrapnel in 'nam. see, he's an uncle with a past. sometimes he crawls on his belly in the livingroom reliving nightmares from 'nam. other times he's cooking up spaghetti from scratch, not the can, in the kitchen and impressing blonde women with large breasts, real, not from the hack shop (uncle chuchi's term for plastic surgery clinics).
family members wouldn't understand the hidden meanings in uncle chuchi's clouded wording, but i would cause i helped uncle chuchi when he returned from hospital. I was the one that wheeled him around the yard after his third leg operation and he would tell me of the smokey poker games he and the guys would play in the barracks while blasting music over the sound of gunfire. this
was my only way to understand my father who still relived the nightmare for years and years after 'nam.
uncle chuchi would have been the one to tell me, "you listen to your old man. he's a good man. he'd have to be to put up with my sister. you dont know what its like to live with a woman who drools and mumbles in her sleep and when she sleep walks thinks she's marilyn monroe. you respect that father of yours. he's one of the good ones."
and i would said, 'of course, uncle chuchi." and then try not to notice when i caught him scratching himself in public, cause that's just the way uncle chuchi was.
"hey, this is my uncle chuchi." i would say and uncle chuchi, with his one squinted eye, one leg shorter than the other due to a bouncing betty in 'nam, would lean forward, pushing back his frizz of slowly fading black hair and say in a gruffy voice, "hey, girl, whatcha been up to, huh? no good, i bet. well, lemme tells ya, bad behaviour only ever leads to two things... bare foot and pregnant by the time you're 20 or dancy naked in nudie bars and with boyfriends named moe. neither is good. ya got yer whole life ahead of ya, kid. now git outta here before i smack ya." and then he would wink, slap some money in my hand to buy a candy bar, give me a shove and say, "tell yer ma i said hey and to give me a ring once in a while. i almost forgot i hadda sister."
all my girl friends would think he was leering but it's only because he had a lazy eye and all my male friends would think he's in the mob, but really he's a good guy with a metal plate in his head due to shrapnel in 'nam. see, he's an uncle with a past. sometimes he crawls on his belly in the livingroom reliving nightmares from 'nam. other times he's cooking up spaghetti from scratch, not the can, in the kitchen and impressing blonde women with large breasts, real, not from the hack shop (uncle chuchi's term for plastic surgery clinics).
family members wouldn't understand the hidden meanings in uncle chuchi's clouded wording, but i would cause i helped uncle chuchi when he returned from hospital. I was the one that wheeled him around the yard after his third leg operation and he would tell me of the smokey poker games he and the guys would play in the barracks while blasting music over the sound of gunfire. this
was my only way to understand my father who still relived the nightmare for years and years after 'nam.
uncle chuchi would have been the one to tell me, "you listen to your old man. he's a good man. he'd have to be to put up with my sister. you dont know what its like to live with a woman who drools and mumbles in her sleep and when she sleep walks thinks she's marilyn monroe. you respect that father of yours. he's one of the good ones."
and i would said, 'of course, uncle chuchi." and then try not to notice when i caught him scratching himself in public, cause that's just the way uncle chuchi was.