Where are all the colorful people?

My Uncle George passed away a few days ago. And as I mourn his leaving this planet, I'm left to reflect: where are all the colorful people?

Part of the loss of my Uncle and pretty much any older family member as they cross over to the great beyond, is the loss of that profound exuberance with which they lived life. These were folks that knew what it was to be poor--and by that I mean, no shoes in the winter, didn't have anything to eat while you hid from the Nazi's in caves--poor. And my goodness, was he a tough bird. I mean hard core. They weren't like us--we complain because we're too stupid to save enough money to pay off our houses, as we take vacations once a year, have newer cars to drive, complain about property taxes, run up our credit card bills and complain about jobs where we sit behind a desk all day. Yeah. Ok. We have it tough.

My Uncle would tell the most incredible stories about his life, his choices: good and bad, his successes and his failures. May I ask, how many of us are willing to admit the successes and failures of our lives, and share them with others? When he was wrong, he let you know it. And quite frankly he was often more proud of the things that he was wrong about than the things that he did right. And he would school you. That's right--no fear of whether or not your feelings where going to get hurt, or whether or not it was any of his business--you were family and you were young, so you better listen. And he was going to tell you everything that you were doing right and everything you were doing wrong. And he refused to apologize for it. So, if you didn't agree--too damn bad. Someone needed to put your naive ass on the right road. I often think, our emotions are too pampered today, as we don't tell each other the truth and we make ourselves feel more important than necessary.

He commanded respect and he deserved respect. And by the end of his life, he had amassed a good fortune and left it all for his family. He lived modestly in a home he built decades ago, and everything he did; he did for his family. He left everything to them, so they could carry on. He was one for dynasties, legacies, and memories. He was a fighter. And probably among the most colorful people you'd probably meet.

So, I ask you, how many people do you have in your life like my Uncle George? How many people are really willing to risk being socially unacceptable, to steer you in the right direction and care less if you wanted to cry in the corner? And how many people do you know that have a lifetime of experience worthy of taking their advice?

Cherish these people if you have them. Learn what you can. Because in our society where we all have to tip toe around each other and say the right thing and be graceful, they are a rarity. To my dear Uncle George, who was both sinner and saint, I wish you well in your journey. Save me a place at the table. I hope to have many stories to tell you when it's my turn to join you.