Water Balloons: An Ode To My Uncle Jack

I was talking to a cousin of mine today about family, more especially, about the importance of family.  We chatted easily, exchanging our thoughts about having roots, a sense of belonging, and sharing our own personal struggles with family politics and the varying dynamics that exist. 

It wasn’t long before we were reminiscing about days gone by… and my Uncle Jack became the center of the conversation. 

Years ago, we had our family reunions on the shores of Lake Chelan, in Manson, Washington. 

I don’t know how it happened, really.  Probably innocent, at first.  Someone accidentally splashed someone else, they splashed back and then the infamous “Lang Family Reunion Water Fights” were ON!  I don’t even know who introduced latex into the mix, but water balloons became a staple of the reunion – along with eating, drinking and enjoying family. 

Now, my Uncle Jack was probably one of the nicest guys you’d ever want to meet.  Don’t get me wrong – he was stubborn and ornery – but he came by that honestly.  He wasn’t particularly tall.  He wasn’t particularly stocky.  But he was one fella you did not want to tangle with. 

He had this smile… it appeared pleasant at first glance, but if there was a water balloon in his hand and that smile crossed his lips - there was a glint in his eye that told you soon there would be trouble.  And so it began... the annual battle of the water balloons.  I recall waiting for Uncle Jack’s arrival with anticipation – barely able to sleep the night before the family reunion… plotting how I would “get him” and recruiting younger cousins to do my dirty work for me.  This would be the year...we would finally win the war of the water balloons and Uncle Jack would be soaked to the bone – waving a white flag.  Victory would be mine.  Sweet, Sweet Victory!

That never happened.  Not once. 

Uncle Jack was raised on a farm.  A farm with nine kids – 3 of them girls.  He had a good aim.  He didn’t miss.  Ever.  In fact, over the years Uncle Jack’s aim improved.  In the battle field, no matter how much I begged, pleaded, bargained, and promised… it always ended the same.  I was soaked.  Uncle Jack was not.  A screaming, teenage girl was fair game in the war of the water balloons.

My mind drifted back to my conversation with my cousin.  She mentioned how you could see in his eyes how happy he was; how much he enjoyed his time with his family.  Uncle Jack’s eyes.  A smile crossed my face as I imagined his smile… and that glint in his eyes… and the water balloon in his hands. 

The water balloon fights continued through the years, but like any great sport – when key players leave the game… well, the game just isn’t as much fun anymore. 

I know when I die and go to heaven, my Uncle Jack will be waiting for me by those pearly gates... with that smile… and that glint in his eyes… and a big water balloon in his hands.