uncle john
My namesake, John Bernard Miles, was my grandmother's little brother (from my father's side). During my lifetime he was widowed and lived with Grandma, sitting in an antique recliner (recliners didn't have foot rests back in the day, they only leaned back when you did), reading the paper, with a wad of chewing tobacco in his cheek, and a tomato soup can on the floor he spit in. That is the position he was always in every time we visited. He rarely spoke unless he had something of value to say. I didn't know it at the time, but he was too young to be retired and living with his sister. He was not in good health, but as a child who rarely saw him move from his chair, I had no idea his years of welding and sheet metal work, not to mention heavy drinking, had taken its toll. Uncle John was the only elder gentleman I ever knew in my family. Mom's parents died when she was quite young and Dad's dad died when I as 4 years old, so the man that lived with my grandmother was the only thing I can equate to a grandfather. When he died in his mid 60's, he left me all his tools and upon digging through them I discovered a stash of bottle openers. All kinds of brewery names that no longer exist, true antiques. There were a couple in every corner of every toolbox, so I preserved them in a place of honor. Of course I found 4 more after I made this . . . figures.
