Uncle Duff

My Uncle Duff (this is a nickname that stuck) served on the USS Midway, during the waning days of WWII and into the Korean Conflict. He is full of great stories of that time, when, since he spoke French nearly fluently, he would serve as the ship captain's translator in many of the ports in the Mediterranean Sea.

This capacity would also spill into, shall we say, unofficial communications. In a bar in port, the commanding officer would point to a woman he was interested in, blonde, brunette or redhead, and my uncle would go over and speak to her. A number of the crew jokingly called him "the captain's pimp."

He also had a story when we were up there last about a Navy training base near San Diego where some Marine drill instructors, during morning calisthenics, would make the recruits yell out, over and over, at the top of their lungs, “I AM A SHITHEAD!”

Then one day, it woke up the base admiral at 5 a.m. And then the sergeants found out exactly who the real shitheads were.

He is full of little pearls like that. He also has a strong affinity to standard poodles, and has had one or more for most of his adult life. The ones that I have known are full of vim and vigor, they are real characters. Uncle Duff has a great philosophy of training them that I tried to emulate with, I think, very good results. Effective training requires the right attitude, establishing an alpha-beta relationship, proper care, and to a certain degree letting the dog be who he is during play.

I read a note a couple of weeks ago from his daughter on a social networking site that his health is declining, even from the last time she visited. Over the past couple-few decades he has had two bouts with skin cancer and prostate cancer --- the only one on either side my family as of this reckoning --- a serious fall, and Parkinson's disease that, as is its nature, is progressively getting worse. He isn't shy about sharing this and dropping little suggestions, e.g. make cranberry juice a regular part of your diet for prostate health. He insists on living in the house that he built for as long as he can, with which I wholeheartedly empathize.

We'll have to make an effort to sneak in a visit, which will include a game of cribbage, soon (it is about a 4-5 hour trip by car). To any family that may read this, I don't think anyone will take offense when I say that Uncle Duff is my favorite uncle. Because, hell, he's probably your favorite, too.