My Uncle

I have a lot of uncles.  And I call them all tío, I call them all uncle.  "My uncle," I start stories, assuming you will know which uncle I mean.

My Tío Emiro is married to my Tía Darda and they went to Atlantic City for their honeymoon fifty years ago, before anyone else in my family even knew honeymooning in Atlantic City was thing.  My Tío Doro, whose name is really Tío Teodoro, became Tío Doro when my young, undiscerning ears failed to distinguish between the the sometimes tonal í and the always tonal e.  My Tío Ismael, who is sometimes Mr. O, likes to make chilli and is always pendiente about my car.  My Tío Pablo tricked me one time, challenging me to make interesting sculptures by taking giant bites out of my sandwich.

My uncle is brave.  My uncle is kind.  My uncle is patient and long-suffering.  My uncle is steady, faithful, and honest.  My uncle is wise.  My uncle is dignified.  My uncle is graceful and noble.  "My uncle," I will begin.  It'll be a good story, I promise.