My uncle was the apple of my grandmother's eye. When I was a child he was my hero, but as an adult, he became someone ugly and not at all who I thought he was. He was a 'lifer' in the military, very highly paid because of his secret communication and technical skills. He wasn't around much when I was growing up, and still wasn't some in my thirties. His first wife was Japanese and I loved her, his second was Thai and I loved her too. Suzie, his first wife, taught me to write and speak some in Japanese, tho I have forgotten it all now. She knitted a sweater for me when I was abut 10. It was a very soft pastel green and I was thrilled. It was the most beautiful gift I ever received and I wore it till it was nearly thread bare in spots. She had one child, (not my uncle's), and Di was her nickname and she was my sister's best friend. I remember sitting in the car in the driveway with Suzie one day and she was crying, she wouldn't tell me why. But it was not long after that, that they divorced. Suzie and her daughter just disappeared one day and later I found out that she was in California. As was customary, when she and my uncle had money problems, my grandmother came to the rescue: she did the same for my mother. I'm talking about thousands of dollars, and this was a sore spot between my grandfather and grandmother. He knew that my uncle was using them and was expecting to always be bailed out of whatever situation he was in. His second wife, Yupin, ( 'At' was the name in English), was never accepted by my grandmother because her skin was nearly black. At was always trying to win my grans approval but never did and eventually went back to Thailand where she became a Nun. She had one son that my uncle loved in his own way and so her son stayed with my uncle when his mother left. It was during their marriage that I really learned what a hateful man he was. She came to live with me a few years before she went back to Thailand, because he had beat her. He treated her like a slave, while I was unhappy at her going back to Thailand I understood that she had to, for her peace of mind. Shortly after she left, my grandmother became ill, and nearly died. I took her to my house to take care of her while she was ill and he never once called or came to see her. One day I went to her house to collect her mail and he happened to walk in while I was there. I asked him why he hadn't come to see her and he said "I wish she would just kick the bucket so I can burn this place to the ground." I was shocked beyond belief. I stood there a couple minutes letting that statement sink in and then I let him have it, telling him in no uncertain terms what a monster he was (not quite that politely). I reminded him of all she had done for him in his life and that she was his mother, the person who gave him life. I reminded him of when he had a car accident that nearly killed him, how she had sat at his bedside in the hospital for three months praying and crying and willing him to live. I told him he didn't deserve her undying love and I told him never to speak to me again. My grandfather and mother had already passed at this point; and in her fear of being alone, she drew up a new will that named him as sole beneficiary of the house and property. That was when I learned that I no longer was going to inherit any of the property. Had my grandfather been alive that would not have happened. My uncles will left everything to the son from Thailand that stayed with him. My grandmother was not in her right mind when she signed her will, she had early onset dementia and so my uncle took advantage of that to make her change her will. Fear makes a person do things that they would otherwise not do. I moved to her house before moving to New York. There were things in the house that had long been designated as mine in the event of her death. Many of those things were gone, all of her jewelry and most of the antiques were gone, some I know that my sister stole from her, some that my uncle sold. Some things I had stored there were gone as well. She was in a nursing home after falling and breaking her hip, and it was my intent to bring her home and take care of her, but my uncle put a stop to that so I was not able to even see her before she died. He knows that I am headstrong and would get her to revise the will so he blocked me from all contact. I had to let it go because I couldn't afford an attorney. He and At's son made threats against my life and thats part of the reason that Alex came to my rescue and moved me to New York. My grandmother died about a year after that and no one notified me so I couldn't even say my goodbyes to her. I haven't said his name in this because I in no way wish to honor him. When I moved to Wenatchee, to grans house, it was then that I fully came to understand about the man who was my uncle. A lot of memories flooded my mind during that time, and one was an occurrence in my childhood. Across the road from my grans house when I was a child, lived the Inks' family. The Inks' were the only black family back then and I spent time at their house playing with the kids sometimes but mostly spent time with Mrs. Inks. Mrs. Inks was the kindest woman and she loved me as much as she loved her own children. She gave me many material things, but the best gift of all was the stories she told me, she laughed and cried with me. She taught me things that I would never learn at my home. There was not a prejudiced bone in her body though she and her family lived with prejudice daily. Mr. Inks did a lot of traveling, via the Greyhound bus. If memory serves me correctly, he was a shoe salesman. Sometimes I would have to go visit my stepfather's parents in Snohomish and when I had to do that, he took the bus with me to keep me safe. I remember a hush coming over the bus every time we boarded and I remember sitting at the back of the bus. People stared and whispered, and now I know what they were whispering about, 'that black man with that little white girl'. I remember one time when we returned from Snohomish, and we were met at the bus station by the sheriff...He put us both in the car, Mr. Inks in the back seat and me up front. I didn't understand what was happening then but later discovered that they thought Mr. Inks was molesting me so they drove us to my grans to talk to her about it. I wish I had understood then because I feel awful now about how they treated him. And I remember my uncle often called the Inks that dreadful 'N' word or 'chocolate drops'. I had an argument with my uncle shortly before I came to New York, about his prejudice. I was cleaning his trailer for him when he made a comment about 'niggers'...I blew up! I can't tolerate deliberately ignorant people and my uncle is deliberately ignorant in that most ugly way. And now I understand why he treated his second wife like a slave: her nearly black skin...it sickens me and I told him in no uncertain terms what a nasty human he is. I reminded him that he worked along side black men in the service, how could he possibly think his prejudice was okay? And when he said to me that he was a born again Christian, I laughed in his face and said 'well, don't count on getting into Heaven with your attitudes and actions'. I don't do well with men who treat women as though they are a piece of furniture and bark orders that they expect women to obey, or beat them. Try that with me, I dare you! I may be silent at that moment but don't turn your back, I have a 5 pound marble rolling pin that makes a great equalizer! The pic above is my gran, gramps mother and uncle To be continued... Special shout out to Dave (magnus073). I have only found out a couple days ago about your mom Dave and I just wanted to send you my thoughts, prayers, light and love. Wishing a speedy and easy recovery for your mom! Big Hugs!!!