Uncle Nick

Hugs, guns, and chill family vibes

Uncle Nick and Aunt Julie

Has a hug ever changed your life? Have you ever had one so amazing it changed your perception of a person? Can you think of the best one you’ve ever received? In my thirty-three years of life, one stands out above the rest. And that was with my Uncle Nick. We were at my cousin Thatcher’s funeral, and, of course, at a twelve-year-old's funeral, the air is heavy and all embraces are extended, carrying that extra weight of grief. I hugged dozens and dozens of people that day, but the one that I’ll never forget—and stands out from the 99% I’ve ever received in my life—was when I hugged Nick upon arriving. 

It was so warm, on all levels. It was firm, gentle, caring, heartfelt, and extended just long enough for me to realize it was on-another-level-amazing. There were no quips to lighten the mood, and it wasn’t a quick obligatory embrace. It was a hey-this-is-hard-come-here, real hug. And it forever changed how I look at my Uncle Nick.

I think an element of my being taken aback by the warmth is that—looks wise—my Uncle Nick would fit comfortably in a biker gang, a tall large man with a deep baritone voice, shaved head, and large black beard. 

But I’ve learned the guy is all heart. 

Uncle Nick: a husband who works at an iron ore mine, has ten children, loves his woodshop, cooks up a storm in the kitchen, is constantly—along with Aunt Julie—going from one kid-related engagement to the next, and somehow manages it all with the chill vibes of a Buddhist monk—a Buddhist monk with an arsenal of a gun cabinet.