Speak with Passion

My mom grew up in a very small town. Many of the residents were born there, spent their lives farming there, and died there.

My uncle, her youngest brother, wasn't having any of that. He never wanted to work hard so he knew farming wasn't for him. He viewed the Marine Corps as his way out. I'm not sure how he decided this was less work than farming and I've never asked. He enlisted in the Marines because his older brothers and one sister had served in the Army and the Air Force. He also did not want to be on a boat so the Navy was out.

I was quite young when my uncle left for boot camp so I have no memory of it.  I learned later that he was an embassy guard. He'll tell you he was selected for that assignment because he looked good in the uniform. (My family is very modest.) During his four-year commitment, he mailed us letters and gifts from all over the world. I still have the wooden shoes he sent me from his trip to Holland.

Girl-child owns a beer stein he sent to his mother from Germany. After Grandma passed away, the stein was returned to him. He gifted it to girl-child because she had also been to Germany, speaks the language, and loves the country.

When I was nine or ten, this uncle came to stay with us for a visit. I don't remember if he was still in the service but - if forced to answer the question - I would say his commitment was up.

He was sleeping on the pull-out couch in the living room. I was always an early riser so I'm sure I was warned against waking him up in the morning when my mom sent me to bed the night before. I'm also sure I forgot that by morning when I crept downstairs in my pajamas. I didn't wake him though. I asked if he was awake and he replied that he was.

I crawled onto the couch with him and we talked for a long time. He talked to me like I was an adult. He told me he was thinking of asking his girlfriend to marry him. And he shared details of his recent trip to the former Soviet Union.

He described Red Square in such vivid detail that I could see colorful St. Basil's Cathedral. He also told me about waiting in line to visit Lenin's tomb. I learned Lenin’s body has been on display since his death in the 1920s. My uncle described the glass case the body was in, the lighting, and how Lenin's body seemed to glow like it was gilded.

He painted such vivid pictures of these far-away lands that - even as a young child - I knew I wanted to travel. I needed to travel. To see things. To live life.

Almost 30 years later, this same uncle made a passing comment in an email that he doesn't share his stories because nobody listens and nobody cares. I had to respond and tell him how his stories inspired me. He doesn't remember our early morning conversation but he was impressed with all the details I could recall - including the name of that long-ago girlfriend.

What I've learned from this is that we should all tell our tales and share our stories. You never know who is listening and how it might change their life.

prompt: Soviet