My earliest memories of Uncle Harry are my favourite. Growing up, we spent time during most summers at Baba’s where we were able to run free. The bedroom he shared with Uncle Walter functioned more as a living room than the actual living room where adult conversations were had and we had access to countless issues of Reader’s Digest and Spitz sunflower seeds.
I wanted to follow him everywhere as a child; even (especially) when he declared he had to go “water the pony.” I was always forbidden to follow and it took several summers to understand there really was no pony.
If there is a heaven, I expect Dad and Uncle Harry are playing horseshoes out back, someone calling out “ringer” well past the sun setting.
