Uncle Pete's Box

Fri, 06 Jun 2008 00:00:00 +0000

I hadn’t heard from Uncle Pete in almost two years. Mom was the one to bring the bad news to me. Uncle Pete had died while driving home from work. A tractor trailer truck driver had fallen asleep while driving and he ran over Uncle Pete’s car on the highway. Not the way he wanted to go, but a least the end came quickly.

We went to Uncle Pete’s funeral two days later. I wish I could say that I missed him, but since I went off to college, we had grown apart. The last time I had spoken with Uncle Pete, I was a sophomore at State College and he was going to go on “the adventure of a lifetime.” We had talked about life and how my schooling was going. The next day, my family gathered in Uncle Pete’s lawyers office for the reading of the will. Uncle Pete’s property was to be sold and all the money split equally between his brothers, sisters, and me. The only item to not be sold was an old box which was to be delivered to me. Everyone seemed happy over the will and dismissed the box as a sign of Pete’s failing mental capacity. I gave the lawyers my address as he handed me the check for my share of the loot, $5,000.

Grimbo on Gromet's Plaza Archive

Uncle Pete's Box