Family Memory (IV): Uncle Karl and the Bird Bomb

Much more recently than the last story I posted about mygrandfatherwhich came from the 1970s is a family classic.  It’s a true story, but thirty years down the road, it is often told with exaggerations and segues into other stories, too.  What’s weird is I don’t remember completely who was there–but I know where I was, I know my grandparents (Haas side, since the Dietz ones were both dead by 1977) were there, and that’s about it.

I’m not even sure the time of year, other than it was beautiful weather and everything was green and our house in Davenport had all the windows open.  It was the early 1980s because I was in high school when this took place.  

My Uncle Karl was a character.  In real life, he was a corporate bad-ass for Ma Bell/US West and served in an undisclosed capacity in the US Air Force during the Vietnam era.  But this is family and the capacity for bull runs high in my family and the oldest of the Haas children, well, Uncle Karl was full of it, especially if he was talking politics or about the Iowa Hawkeyes or Nebraska Cornhuskers—exactly, my Uncle had zero taste in sports teams.

Anyways, I was sitting in our kitchen, listening to the family talking outside the window where we had a picnic table underneath a big old locust (I think) tree.  I don’t remember what I was actually doing–most likely I was reading something.  I was old enough that I could pipe in from time to time though, so I paid more attention to the ‘adult talk’ than whatever I was doing.  Anyone who’s been 14-15 knows what I mean.

So, everyone is outside and it’s getting dark–I seem to remember it being about 3/4 there, the point where everyone exists in shades of blue/black.  Uncle Karl had had several beers by that point–though you do need to understand, alcohol tolerance on my mom’s side is pretty high.  Several beers isn’t going to have much effect on someone with high tolerance whose also 6’2, 230 or so.  So Uncle Karl goes into one of his stories, one of the big ones, finishing it by chugging his beer (it was either a Coors or a Colt ’45, weird that I remember that), full blast, head to the sky.  

A couple more details–I didn’t mention that Uncle Karl didn’t have perfect eyesight.  He wore glasses.  Also, when it’s summer and beautiful weather, bugs, birds, and all–they’re all out and active especially at dawn and dusk when the temperatures are nicest.

So, Uncle Karl leans back, chugs that beer and then suddenly he’s choking, spitting that beer out, spraying it like he’d just heard a hilarious joke.  That wasn’t what happened though.  Nope.  One of those bird up in the tree, well, it liked Uncle Karl and to show it, decided that was the right moment to take a dump.  It was a perfect strike.  It missed his forehead, missed his glasses–that bird poop went right between them hitting him square in the eye.  I’ve never seen anything like it.  Don’t think anyone else has either.

For the next couple decades, that was brought up at every family get-together.  We didn’t let him live that down, not once.

To be fair and finish the story, the thing is–everyone in the family knows the story, but then when we tell it, we immediately turn to the other big thing, Uncle Karl’s barbecuing/cooking and his beer-beans-bacon concoction, “Beans Delight”.  Uncle Karl died nearly 20 years ago now which is hard to comprehend.  He’d be 74 this year.  I wonder what he’d think of a family legacy of “bird poop and Beans Delight”?  I can guess:

Me: “What do you think of being remembered for bird poop and Beans Delight, Uncle Karl?Uncle Karl: “Jimmy, I think Sis dropped you one too many times growing up, eh?”Me: “But I’m being serious.”Uncle Karl: (drinking another beer) “Me, too, Jimmy.  Me, too.”

Hahahahhaah!

Uncle Karl died on this day (April 1) back in 2000.   Just like it’s weird to think it has been nearly a decade since my mom died, it’s almost twenty since his death.  I get this is all part of the ‘circle of life’, but it still sucks.