Eric Tapley

My Great-Great-Uncle Paul passed away yesterday. He was 93 years old, lived a long and fruitful life, and suffered little before his death.

Uncle Paul was the “cool guy” in the family when I was young. I poignantly remember him from one Thanksgiving at my Grandmother’s house. The whole family had gathered and finished our meal; we sat around laughing, joking, telling stories, and enjoying the warmth of the fire.

“Who wants dessert?” my Grandmother asked. Everyone, of course, wanted to know about the options. Grammy listed off the choices: pumpkin pie, apple pie, lemon meringue pie, pudding, and, of course, a few flavors of ice cream.

“Hell, Rose, I don’t know, bring me a little bit of everything,” Uncle Paul joked. He must have thought she’d pick something and bring it out, not bring a full spread of dessert, but indeed Uncle Paul’s was a plate full of each dessert, generous helpings, while the rest of us had our choice.

At every Thanksgiving after that Uncle Paul, without asking, would get the full selection of desserts. Sometimes one of us would yell out that we wanted “A little bit of everything,” just like Uncle Paul.

Uncle Paul was always a bit of a maverick to me, he was the one who lived as he wished, ate however much dessert he wanted, and who always stood up to others in my family when he believed in something. He spoke with the authority of years and made a great impression on me in my youth.

He was also the last connection I had to Papa and Nana, my Great-Grandfather and Great-Grandmother, two people who helped tremendously in raising my brother and I after my Dad left and my mom was on her own. They were, in many respects, a second set of parents.

I miss them all.