No, not that Jack Cassidy. But yes, Mom had an uncle named Jack whose gregarious personality both flattered and flustered.

As girls, Mom and her sister, Bunny, would scurry into the pantry to hide from that big personality.

I did the same years later. As a child, I cowered from my uncle John Cull’s Eugene Levy-esque eyebrows. We shy lasses eventually grew up to appreciate these fine gentlemen.

Mom wrote this poem about her uncle Jack Cassidy, a steamfitter, 13 years after his passing.

sunday man

uncle jack
backrubber bearhugger
kissingest cafferty in the clan
we fled behind the pantry door
as you came conquering on summer sundays

my mother kept a room between
her brothers smiled and put their hands
to pipes and pockets

you celebrant
the week before you died
I saw you at the wedding
pale now thinner cold cigar in mouth
bending like a breeze was at your back
cajoling flirting
holding hands with sad and ancient aunts
turning before my eyes those scraps of women
into raving beauties

~ joan vayo October 7, 1975

Mom’s wonderful poems are scattered throughout this blog. Click here on the Poems Tag to see more.

“sunday man” © 1975 Joan Vayo. All rights reserved.

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