Uncle George

Uncle George is not an uncle at all, he is the Godfather of my wife, Maria, and one of my most cherished friends in the world. I met him on a family vacation before our marriage and from our very first interaction, I wanted more time with this very unique individual. He is also my father-in-law’s best friend, but that does not translate to my father-in-law and myself getting along great.

Maria and her Godfather, Uncle George, on her college graduation day.

Uncle George rides his bike most places and is very active in hiking and biking clubs throughout the New Haven community. He is the father to one son and the husband to a woman that he did not marry until well into their adulthood. She was an introvert and he never met a stranger, yet considers himself shy. He goes into a conversation with such verbosity that it does seem a bit forced like someone is prodding him to get involved with the world. He takes this silent advice and jumps in with both feet speaking to most people that might respond – I don’t think he is discouraged by those that ignore him, they have simply lost the opportunity to engage in real human connection. There are no off base subjects – he may address religion, race or even political inclination. He is trying to elicit a reaction and it may not be hugs and Euro style cheek kisses – it may be red cheeked abhorrence.

Uncle George claimed he didn’t believe in God, or at least he wasn’t sure of the human definition of God, but he went to church every week. He had a priest in New Haven that was some form of Protestant, very Catholic adjacent, just with a more modern twist allowing priests to marry, be female and homosexual. These were the modifications to the church that made sense to George – I agree with him, but have become Catholic to make sure my wife has her husband for eternity. George also went to the Greek Orthodox church as that was his heritage and he found comfort in their traditions. He went to the Protestant offering because he loved the orator – he used to send me print outs of the homilies. George is curious, like his namesake the monkey, and he liked to stir the pot if he knew a counter opinion was present. He would ask his Catholic best friend, my father-in-law, why the church didn’t accept gays or why they prayed to Mary. He always asks open-ended questions without a lot of judgement, but the questions themselves are designed to be inflammatory.

I first met Uncle George on my wife’s family vacation at Block Island in Rhode Island. He wears colorful clothing that may, or may not, match. This provides a bright contrast to a person whom does most of his travel on a bicycle. He has large glasses and a hat to keep his lightly haired head from burning and he pulls his white socks all the way up for a fashionable grandfather look. Uncle George has always wore a mustache and if the son is bright he will have on some large sunglasses that fit over his regular glasses – he is thin and his blood pressure is ultra low from his high level of fitness. He is what most people would call eccentric, but there is a depth that goes well beyond eccentricity into the truly authentic. When I first me him, he drilled me with many questions that were also directed to inform his best buddy. Religion, politics, sex before marriage – nothing was off the table and I didn’t steer away from any of it (looking back, I didn’t realize how sabotaged I had been, at least in regards to the relationship with my Father-in-law, but when it came to the relationship with my Wife’s Godfather, my honesty won an instant connection. I loved everything about him – his free spirit especially and his ability to exercise and play were attributes that I wanted to mirror or at least I do now – back then, I liked beer and cigarettes too much to put exercise at the top of my priority list.

Not long after this trip, I asked my wife to marry me. We were married in Pennsylvania at her childhood Catholic church. Her father didn’t walk her down the isle because we had lived in sin – a little taste of what my honesty had brought me from the previous paragraph. The Godfather of my wife certainly made the wedding and brought his wife, which was an honor as she did not enjoy crowds as much as her husband, but you could tell that he valued the event highly by including his family with ours – Anne, his wife, was not a huge fan of my Father-in-law either as she was a pronounced atheist and Frank, my father-in-law, couldn’t handle the rejection of his ideals. He is one of the religious who is sure they are right – thank God for the nun that brought me into the religion, she didn’t have the answers, but she had a beautiful faith based on mystery. Uncle George also visited soon there after and was one of the first people to visit us in our new home in Texas. He took his duty as Godfather seriously and always stayed connected with Maria, my wife, and as the years wore on, he may have sensed that I needed his watchful eye more than my pious wife.

When I was arrested and sentenced to a good stent in prison, Uncle George took up the flag as pen pal. The sincere truth about my time in prison was that the deepest sadness came from being lonely – even in a room with over one hundred men, the loneliness is intense – the missing is enough to break you. My wife drove one hundred miles each way, every weekend to visit me and there will be blog posts about that unending love and Uncle George wrote me letters – tit for tat – whatever length of letter I sent out, I received the same length back. Most people dropped me when I was locked up, but this man, who had spent less than a couple weeks of his life with me, embraced me with such a genuine friendship that his place in my heart is forever anchored.

Addendum: I wrote the previous lines when Uncle George was still alive, I had a sense that he was fading and I wanted to clarify how important this person was/is to me. He passed May 16th, 2026 and I had traveled to his home a couple days prior up to the 16th to say my goodbyes as well as a farewell from my wife who loved George very much. He had already stopped communicating by the time I arrived – he might try to open his eyes a bit when he heard a voice, but there is no knowing if he was listening or not. I knew this was his state before I left, but my heart wanted to say goodbye, my body wanted to be in his living presence one more time. I had the pleasure of sitting with him for a couple of hours each day and I only hoped that I was keeping him company like he had done for me. He may not have pledged himself to the human’s definition of God, but he certainly spread love and generosity like water from the heavens. He will live forever in the hearts of many.

In those last days sitting with Uncle George, the house was overrun by those who loved him – he never let you go once he embraced you. There were soccer players that he coached at age 11 that were now grown and sending their children to college – there were other Godsons, neighbors, old man breakfast goers from McDonalds where George went every day, ping pong palls and hiking and biking mates. His son, Aaron, let all these people in with grace, allowing us all to say goodbye and connecting with each person as if George himself had evolved to be even more kind. George leaves behind this beautiful son, his lovely daughter-in-law and two exceptional grand children as well as a world of free spirits that loved being a part of his story.