What I Learned From Uncle John Jaquish

My Uncle John Jaquish was my mother’s brother, the first of eight kids and then he went and had nine kids of his own Barb, Charlie, Mike, Tommy, Dick, Stephanie, Nancy, Laurie, David. (I did that without even looking!)   

 

I used to love to visit his house because I always felt like I belonged to some wonderful big group when I was there. 

I used to like getting a hug from my Uncle John. His face would light up when I came in the room, and he would give me this one armed squeeze that would nearly squeeze my breath out. A one armed squeeze that said he was glad to see me. Me, Lessie as I was called back then. He had nine kids and was glad to see one more. I never got over it. 

That hug let me know that I belonged to a huge family, the Jaquish’s. Not just his nine kids but I belonged to my mother’s other brothers and sisters too. I had a place that was home and they were glad to see me there. 

That hug let me know that I was someone worth noticing. I don’t remember having a lot of conversation with my Uncle John. He lived at our house for a while as his job relocated him to Clarion and he looked for a house for his family. I remember he was always interesting and asked me questions I didn’t know how to answer. 

But that hug let me know it was okay if I couldn’t think of what to say. I remember he was loud too. He had loud opinions and a loud laugh. One time I read this description of the laugh of a character in a book: his laugh,” the author wrote, “sounded like nails falling into an old pail.” I always thought Uncle John laughed liked that.

When we visited Grandpa in Tunkhannock, I listened for that laugh and then ran into the kitchen where he’d be sitting with a cup of coffee. He’d get up, greet me, and give me that hug, which I waited for and was a little scared of. I’d giggle—as soon as I caught a post-hug breath—and run off to play with his daughters and my other cousins. Just knowing I’d been hugged was good enough for me. 

Those hugs were like the hand stamp you get at a concert. Once I was hugged, i could come and go and prove I belonged with the big rambling bunch of cousins as we roamed Tunkhannock or the hillside behind my grandfather’s house. 

He passed away in 1985 but I learned a thing or two from him. I drink coffee today because I wanted to be smart and have a million opinions like him. I give out hugs because I remember how good those side armed squeezes felt. I knew I was important and that I belonged and I had the hug to prove it.