How Do You Have 18 Uncles?--The Inevitable Question

Answering that takes a bit more than a single blog, and requires laying some groundwork

Uncle Jeff and I sharing a kayak.

“Yes, real uncles.” Whenever I tell someone I have 18 Uncles, I get the same follow-up, “Like, eighteen real uncles?” And I have to confirm, ”Yes, real uncles.” Most either assume they’re in my imagination, or it’s a cultural “Uncle” Paulie, “Uncle” Silvio Dante, and “Uncle” Tony Soprano situation. 

Then, I get the bigger question: “How is that possible?” 

It’s difficult to answer that in a few punchy lines or a five-minute blog because there are so many threads to pull on. It’s going to take a series to get to the root. I don’t have a clear response yet because a proper answer deserves depth but also, until recently, I hadn’t thought about the “how” question all that much. 

Like young people across the planet with dreams that don’t seem to fit in with the sleepy streets they come from, I never appreciated the area I grew up in and was just another one of those bored teens who drove around with friends for entertainment and couldn’t wait to get away from small-town living, knowing who was behind the wheel of most cars we passed, stopping at the same gas station every day, and recognizing every face inside. 

Once I started traveling and eventually moved to Europe, I turned and looked back at my rural Michigan upbringing from 4000 miles and could see just how culturally unique it was. 

Fully immersing in a new country with a different language, customs, food, and history, getting invited to a “witch burning” in the Czech Republic, seeing the Semana Santa processions in Andalucia, Spain with their somber horns, incense, and lines of pointy-hooded marchers, or waking to sound of the sea and pre-dawn Fajr prayers blaring Arabic from tin-sounding speakers in Casablanca, one can’t help but get curious and ask questions. 

And in seeking to learn about another culture, we can’t help but reflect on our own. 

That’s what I’ve been doing a lot of these last couple of years, reflecting as I ran around Europe and attempted to better understand the world and America’s place in it from my simple life teaching English to children in Spain and then in corporate settings in Prague while devouring books by thinkers like Anthony Bourdain and Chris Hedges and writing on travel, politics, and economics. 

Now I want to dig deeper. 

After spending my formative years praying to escape rural America, I’m trying to rediscover it—and maybe, in many real ways, truly see the place and the people I come from for the first time. 

I want to learn about my religious childhood, how the community shaped who I became, how it made my huge family what it is, and I especially want to learn something about my late father and get to know all my uncles.

So, I bought a one-way ticket home with the plan of spending time with Uncle Paul, Nick, Rodney, Tim, Dale, Russ, Ryan, Jamey, Corey, Todd, Jeff, Jimmy, Dave, Peachy, Ed, Steve, Wally, and Bob, my real, flesh-and-blood uncles. 

I’m going to blog about it along the way because, while ours was a unique upbringing, I believe many universal themes will emerge about being human, about family, fatherhood, masculinity, religion, marriage, death, contemporary America, and many many more that I can’t even imagine yet and that we can all discover together. 

Writing on it will also help me focus, ask important questions I might otherwise avoid, and connect on a different level with everything: my family, the place, and all the themes that arise. 

Eventually, when I am home and spend quality time with everyone, I’ll get into my adventures and conversations with each legendary uncle and begin to explore the bigger “How do you have eighteen uncles?” question. 

But first, I’m going to lay some groundwork, both here and in the following posts, regarding the where, when, and why. 

Saying you grew up religious in small-town America is hardly unique, but I’m pretty sure I can count on one hand how many congregations are flying in ministers to deliver sermons in Finnish or how many places are pronouncing the word “sauna” properly (s-OW-na). 

That could only be Apostolic Lutherans in our pristine corner of Michigan, nestled beneath Lake Superior with incredible natural beauty, way too much snow, and locals rocking a Northern-Midwestern-quasi-Canadian twang.  

That accent, my love for Upper Michigan, and how a pocket of Finns ended up there, I’ll get into. Over the next series of blogs, I’ll explore the religion in more depth, our glorious Big Lake, rural American living, and more. 

Before I get on a plane with not much more than a boarding pass, everything I own packed into two suitcases, and a grandiose vision, I will set the scene for the journey about to unfold and clarify the direction, motivation, and intentions. And then I’ll transition into connecting with my uncles, probably digressing here and there to chase down ideas, provide context, and unpack some of their and my thinking. 

As the gravity of the endeavor is hitting me, I’m feeling insecure, petrified really, and swimming in doubt. 

But I know that, at a minimum, after a year or so, I’ll be much closer to my 18 real, flesh-and-blood uncles, and hopefully, we’ll all have learned something about life and modern America, together. 

Thanks for reading and following the journey. 

— Mitch

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Probably the single photo with the most uncles, 14 of 18 with my paternal grandfather, and the jersey I’ve had on my wall for 9 years in Europe.

Sevilla