Yes to Everything

Uncle Fred’s trailer in California sold almost immediately after he died. His cottage in Illinois sold a few months ago. My dad’s trailer that was parked outside the ten-minute lube off highway 101 was cleaned up immediately following his death. Life goes on.

I sit here typing onto the glowing background of my computer screen and I’m looking at an old photograph of my dad and Miriam Patchen. I recently found the photo tucked inside a copy of Barbara Ueland’s If You Want to Write, signed To Natalie Jo From Uncle Fred on the inside cover.

This photo makes me so happy. This is CLASSIC David Lee; the leather cap, that GRIN, that mustache, the black leather vest, the plaid western shirt tucked inside his 30/30 501 Levis, the pocket watch. It’s all there. And the way Miriam is looking up at him…and knowing Uncle Fred is behind the Lens. I can’t help but smile when I look at this.

I miss knowing that Uncle Fred and my dad are just a phone call away. I have regrets that I didn’t talk to Uncle Fred on a weekly basis after my dad died. For years I would occasionally ignore Uncle Fred’s drunken phone call because I knew I would be on the phone forever. If I wasn’t in the mood to listen…I wouldn’t pick up the phone. But then one day that changed. Twenty minutes into our conversation he says “Well, I’ll let you go, I know you are busy”, and then that was it. In the past he would have said that at least three or four times and our conversation would have lasted another hour as I drifted off into “uh huh” land. When he so promptly ended our phone conversation, I noticed that it left me feeling a bit sad. But WAIT…really? Our conversation is DONE? Just like that? I was ready! I am comfortable and sitting in my chair with a fresh cup of tea. I’ve got all the time in the world! We would go a month, two…maybe three months without talking. My life was a mess and I shut out those closest to me. I put my energy into keeping up the façade. Oscar was born and my excuses got bigger. Just months before Uncle Fred passed away Oscar and I were in California for two months. I was staying with family in San Diego escaping my own family drama back home. I had all the excuses in the world on why I couldn’t make it to LA for a visit. I know I’m not supposed to dwell on things like this, but that’s what you do. You look back, you reflect, you regret, you wish you could change things. Why is it NOW I feel like I have so many questions for him? Toward the end of his life Uncle Fred would give me an update on his health and reassure me, “I’m not going anywhere, I have a whole lotta livin’ to do!” I trusted that this meant I would see him in May when he planned to move his life back down to Illinois and Oscar and him would meet for the first time.

I am catching some irony in my reflection. Uncle Fred had agoraphobia and the man was King of Excuses. I lived in LA for three years and managed to have him over to my place once. If I was at his trailer and he didn’t feel like being social, he was in his bedroom, always “paying bills”. Our lives are so damn complicated and all I can say now is that I know he understands my regrets and my excuses. Everything he has given me over the years; Postcards, letters, manuscripts, magazines, books, chapbooks, paintings, I look through all this stuff now, trying to find the answers to my questions. Last night I got sucked into one of his typed up stories for Biker Magazine from 1995 and occurred to me that the answer is quite simply “YES”. Yes to everything.


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