Part 2: Moe

    In the days following me moving in, timed seemed to have laid down and sat still for me, for us, for my little family. My uncle Chris or “Moe” lived in the house as well. He had a mild case of down syndrome. He was highly functional and resourceful. As I walked into his room there were so many randoms things. He was extremely organized. Everything had a place. He had 3 dressers in his room because he didn't want anything to lay around that should be put up. It made me giggle a little. I think it's because of him that I am so organized and so anal when it comes to having things in their place. I've since then, have learned to let go a little.

       Since we were both like the children in the house, we spent a lot of time together. He would teach me how to take things apart and put them back together. Assemble pretty much anything without ever reading directions. The way his mind worked was so beautiful. He found fault in no one and in nothing. He would always have some great new fact or random thought to share and always tried to make everyone laugh. He was always getting in trouble with my grandparents. He would constantly do things they told him not to do, honestly, I think that he did them because growing up for him, he was sort of in the background since he had to shine behind eight other siblings that had gone on and accomplished more than he would. He never let that tarnish his innocent heart. He never let his love falter. Everyone in our neighborhood knew who he was. With his old, red ten-speed bike as he would pedal his way all around Corpus Christi. Soon after, he rebuilt a new bike, it was for me. So that I would join him on these misadventures. Everywhere we stopped someone knew him. People always yelled “Hey Moe!” as we cruised down the street. It's partly because of him that I have this soft, kind heart.

       Sometimes, Moe and I would ride down to the park off of Bloomington Street and just sit under a tree. He would tell me stories of all of his siblings of when they were younger. He was like the historian of the family. He would write down important dates and events that happened in his life. Some of my favorite stories were when he would tell me about my mom. These were the most important to me because I really didn't have too many memories of her. She lived in California with my little sister. He would tell me about the times my parents dated and how my dad was a different person when he was with my mom. Of course that was a short lived story, since my dad had fell into the wrong crowds. However, my uncle would always leave those stories out. He didn't want me to have any sort of negative image of anyone in my life. He would tell me stories about how beautiful my mom was and how much my dad was undeserving of her. He would tell me the silly reasons why my grandmother and mom didn't get along. Which when you think about it, aren't so important anymore.

       However, my favorite story ever was when he would tell me how much my mom loved me when I was still in her belly. She would always rub her tummy and hum without even realizing she was. How my mom was so protective of me, even before I came into this world. She still is by the way!

His love for old cheesy 80's movies is still alive and well today in myself! He introduced me to so many movies that otherwise would have been lost to me. I watch them still, if not for the laugh of the quality of graphics, for the nostalgia. Remembering how we would pop three bags of popcorn and put our dill pickles in the freezer for twenty minutes before eating them. Giving them that perfect cold and crisp taste. We had the original DVR. It was called a VHS tape! He would record live television and we'd watch it later because all the good movies came on while I was at school. Unless he could convince my grandparents I was “sick” and couldn't go to school that day because we read in the TV Guide magazine that a really good movie was going to come on at 1:00pm!