Jealousy

I was six when I met my Uncle Pat. My dad was sick and my uncle came to West Virginia, where we lived at the time, to oversee my father's typewriter franchise until my dad recovered.

After dinner, my uncle and I would walk to a nearby store. Pat would hold his two fingers out: I'd latch on. He bought me a Donald Duck comic book on one of those walks. Another time it might be a candy.

Uncle Pat was a tease. My mother thought it lacked class to put a milk bottle on the table instead of in a pitcher. Pat made sure that bottle was on the table each morning. I loved the joke.

The next time I saw Pat, I was 20. Just married.

My ex and I were in D.C. where he was at the Naval School of Music. Pat and my Aunt Alma lived in nearby Falls Church. He loaned us an Army blanket that I didn't return. Decades later he was still teasing me about it.

My parents divorce was not pretty. I didn't see my father for years, but in my twenties we developed a wonderful relationship.

Uncle Pat and Aunt Alma retired to Englewood, FL along with my dad, stepmom and several other aunts and uncle. I would be the visiting princess going from house to house being plied with this apple pie, that special dinner. Uncle Pat's house was my favorite.

I discovered the Boston condo I bought had been one of the first flats my aunt and uncle had lived in when they were newlyweds.

I adored my dad. I knew he loved me when he gave me his tamale, his most favorite food, from his lobster, even though I had my own. When I visited we played gin rummy, went out to eat, talked until the early hours of the morning, had running alligator jokes funny only to ourselves. When he came up to Boston, we saw as much of each other as possible.



On a business trip to Miami, I drove over to see my dad. Of course, Pat and Alma were part of the visit.

Both men decided that my beaten up briefcase was not proper for a budding executive. According to my stepmom, the two men teamed up to buy one that was much more distinguished. Neither man liked shopping, but took days to find just the right one for me. They presented it to me, like a jeweled crown.

Uncle Pat had a major heart attack on the tennis court, a fitting place for a game he loved. My father had a major heart attack after his best round of golf ever. Both died almost instantly leaving a huge gap in my life.

Years later when I was visiting my stepmom, she told me that my father was jealous of my relationship with Pat. He was afraid I loved Pat more than him. Never had he shown it to anyone, confessing it only to my stepmom. Good woman that she was, she reassured him, that that was not the case, love did not have limits, etc.

I would never have done anything deliberately to hurt my dad. I was always the one who signed off telephone calls with "I love you." He would answer "Me too." I never said, "I love you to Pat" although I did. It was different. He was my uncle and my dad was my dad. I shared different things with each of them.

Knowing how wise my stepmom was, I'm sure she put his mind at ease. She was the one who insisted he try to reestablish our relationship when I was a college student. Thanks to her, he overcame his fear of rejection. We discussed that in detail.

After learning about my dad's jealousy, I try to think how my actions may be perceived by others. I will never stop showing my affection for those I care for, but I want to make sure that those I love, know I love them for who they are and why. I know that jealousy is the cross that the person creates themselves. My father would never have burdened me with his doubts. I am just glad that my stepmom knew what to say.

Why?

Because I loved him. No need for jealousy.