It was a surprise, not only because I didn't know he'd been having health problems -- Grandma was always my news source -- but also because he was my youngest uncle, the baby of the family.
Even though he was in his 60s, just by virtue of being the youngest, he always seemed young to me. When we would go out golfing when I was a kid (and oh, the memories I have of those early mornings with my dad and uncles), my dad was almost 40, rapidly graying, and a teacher. Eric was still in his twenties, which made him seem hip, young and carefree.
We always had funny nicknames for each other in the family, and he reveled in calling me "Kara Bear-a Ware-a Snare-a MacNamara," but as I got older, he never failed to call me by my full first and middle name. If I picked up the phone and heard a slightly nasally "Kara Ellen!" I knew it was him. (My other favorite uncle often uses both, too, but it has a lower, descending tone.)
But you see that exclamation point? That's because Eric said everything in an exclamation point.
"Kara Ellen! Did you tell you Dan and I are going to go see Tool?!" "Kara Ellen! Jules and I are doing Easter at our place!" (I haven't been to Easter at their place in 20 years, but he ALWAYS called to invite me.)
He absolutely loved music. Even some of my earliest memories are of him giving my dad record albums for Christmas -- I remember in particular being fascinated by the cover of Pink Floyd's The Wall.
He saw concerts as often as most people see movies, finding excuses to take his business partners as a schmooze or his kids as a bonding experience.
At my Grandma's wake at his house, he had the record player going.
I think I've made it plain that I'm close to my family, and I have a large family that is nevertheless surprisingly close-knit. My grandparents and aunts and uncles babysat me, and then they hired me for my first babysitting jobs. We went to everyone's birthdays and had all the holiday meals together. My dad and his brothers spent decades meeting most Sundays for golf or cards. Many of them still come to both my kids' birthday parties, even though they are only great- aunts and uncles, which is admittedly pretty distant.
But Eric loved music, and I was in a band and played the bass somewhat capably. He used to have some guys over to his place to jam, including an old dude he loved named Denny. He enclosed a little sun porch on the side of his house and kept the music stuff in there. So when my band broke up, he called right away and asked if I wanted to jam. I did.
I was no good compared to some of the guys he got in there, but they made room for people with varying abilities, and they often got pretty high, so the music sounded okay to them. About once a month (sometimes more often) for some years, I went over to his place, or to one of the other guys' houses, and we made some music. Often times it was terrible music and great fun. I loved playing Jethro Tull's "Locomotive Breath." Sometimes we'd just dink around, and once or twice I got on the mic and started saying goofy stuff. Eric absolutely lost it laughing to one improv I did called "Grandma's Big Back Porch." He liked to record everything -- every session from beginning to end. (I still have dozens of CDs labeled things like "Copious Notes: More Vicodin for the Drummer. F'ed out" and "Muscle Tone" and "Burn on Contact.") So EVERYONE heard the Big Back Porch song. (Full disclosure: he even played it at Grandma's wake.)
A lot of times, we'd take a break, and the other guys would go out to smoke. I'd start to head off, too, but he'd play a quiet guitar part to something like "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd, and I'd stay to sing with him.
He also loved to go to "Old Farts," a music festival somewhere in the Deep South that he always wanted me to go to with him.
His enthusiasm extended to his kids, and I often heard about Dan's sports or school achievements, or Melissa's creative endeavors. He was incredibly proud of them no matter what they did, really. They've grown up to be very decent people, too, and I'm sorry that neither of them -- should they have kids -- will get to see the light in his eyes that would have been there for his grandchildren. (Important note: he does have two other kids who are both older and with whom he has recently reconnected. They seem like decent people too, and it's sad that their sort of budding relationship with him ends here. I don't mean to leave them out.)
Anyway, he was surprisingly young, he was full of boundless enthusiasm, energy, and love, and there's a lot we'll all be missing without him.
Rest In Peace, Uncle Eric, and may the strains of Tool guide you to your rest.
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