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Yesterday, I lost my favorite uncle.

Uncle Richie was a fucking hilarious, smartass, ballbuster of a man, and that’s where my mind goes when I think about him. Not because I’m avoiding the sadness, but because laughing is how I remember him best.

The first time he met @aspasiarising we’d only been dating five months. Before Christmas at my family’s house, I told her exactly what was going to happen. Sure enough, she walked in, Richie immediately put his arm around her, walked her into the kitchen and asked, “What are you doing with this guy?”

Fucking called it.

That was Richie. Busting my balls, but also letting Bijou know immediately that she was family.

At my dad’s bar, he could turn stealing a bite of my sandwich into an elaborate fucking heist. I knew it was coming and somehow that son of a bitch would still get me. Distractions, accomplices, whatever it took. The man was committed to the bit.

We also gave him endless shit for being the greatest front-runner in sports history. He became a Cincinnati Reds fan right around the time the Big Red Machine was winning everything. We always joked Richie’s favorite team was whoever was in first place.

But underneath all that ballbusting was a wonderful fucking guy. A great father to Tracy, Chris and Shannon, a terrific grandfather to Christian, Matthew and Connor, and an uncle I was incredibly lucky to have.

I’m playing “Angel Flying Too Close to the Ground” with this because it was one of his favorites. I remember it playing over and over at my grandparents’ house and Richie singing along, loudly.

It’s funny what stays with you. A stolen bite of a sandwich. A smartass comment. A song playing in a house full of family.

Those little things don’t feel so little today.

Love you, Uncle Richie. I’m going to miss the shit out of you.

And wherever you are, I hope your team is in first place.
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