Alternate title: My Great-Uncle, the Feminist.

It’s funny what we sometimes remember from childhood. This being Women’s History Month, my thoughts turned to people in my early life who helped me set my own course. Who knew when to offer encouragement and when to just get out of the way.

My Great-Uncle Matt (referred to as Uncle Matt forthwith) was one of those people. On paper, he seemed an unlikely proponent of female self-determination. He was a lifelong Catholic, a WWII vet, and – though he and I never discussed politics – I’d guess was socially conservative. He played polka songs on his accordion and kept his garage in pristine perfection. I never saw as much as a stray grass clipping on the spotless concrete floor.

But what I remember most powerfully is that he was one of the only adults I knew who wasn’t trying to get me to “settle down” or “behave.” Rather the opposite, if one considers conventional gender norms of his generation.

For example:

Uncle Matt let me shoot his BB gun (I was 7).

He gave me a dollar at the end of every visit and never told me what I should do with it (whereas my parents were all about saving and usually funneled any birthday money I received into an account I couldn’t touch).

I’m fairly sure I remember him coaching me on how to throw punches. I was about six, my sister three, and Uncle Matt supervised as we practiced on each other in the kitchen of he and my Aunt Stella’s modest brick ranch.

He watched my gymnastics and swim classes, and there was always a jar of peanut M&Ms in the living room. I ate as many as I wanted. Uncle Matt and Aunt Stella were, for obvious reasons, my favorite babysitters.                

He also gave advice. Alongside the sparring session between my sister and I, he said, “Never start a fight. But if someone starts a fight with you, you finish it.” One of his mottoes was to “pace yourself.” Meaning, I think, to not take too much on at once and to work at your own speed to get through it.

He was tall, kind, steady. The sort of presence a kid needs in their life.

He died when I was in high school. I was sad to lose him – he’d always been much more of a grandfather than great-uncle. I’d had a secret wish that he would live long enough to play his accordion at my wedding.

Instead, I have memories and a pair of his hedge trimmers. Along with advice which I carry to this day. I always feel better if I tackle a project in manageable phases instead of swinging for the whole thing at once. As far as finishing fights, I’ve had very few physical altercations in my life. And I don’t think his words meant to advocate for aggression. Rather, I think his intent was to urge fortitude in the face of opposition. Perhaps it is telling that he didn’t say “win” or “lose” – he said “finish.”

I used Uncle Matt’s hedge trimmers this afternoon to do some early-spring cleanup. After several hours of pulling weeds, getting rid of last year’s dead leave and branches, and cutting the grass, I surveyed my handiwork. I like to think my Uncle Matt would approve. He did always appreciate a well-tended yard. And I’d been careful to pace myself.