After my brother in law, Michael, passed away, I wrote down a few small stories about him. Not the big ones. Just the ones that made me smile when I thought about them. This is the first.
We were at my sister’s place after the funeral, when M told this story. When the kids were little, they used to do the usual school projects. One year, A made one of those classic hand turkeys. You trace your hand, turn it into a turkey, and on each finger you write something important to you.
On most of the fingers, she put exactly what you would expect from a three or four year old. Family. Home. Simple, generic things.
But on one of the fingers, she wrote “Uncle Michael.”
That was it. No other specific people. No friends. No teachers. Just Uncle Michael, singled out and given his own finger on the turkey.
Even back then, he just had that way with kids. They were drawn to him immediately. He did not try very hard. He did not need to. They just liked him.
What struck me was realizing how few people knew the story. When we mentioned it, my mom was surprised she had never heard it before. Somehow it had just stayed with us.
It feels like such a small thing. A hand turkey from a preschool classroom. But it says a lot.
Some people leave impressions without even realizing they are doing it. Michael was one of those people.
No photo of the turkey I am afraid. its in storage after thanksgiving and I am not going to hunt for it!