He was my uncle Albert (pronounced Al-bear).

Uncle Albert was the second youngest in a family of thirteen brothers and sisters. The family was a fairly typical French-Canadian rural clan. They lived on a farm along the St. Lawrence river about 200 km north of Quebec City. The farm, over three hundred years old, is still in the family in the hands of my cousin.

Farm families had lots of kids back then, not so much because they particularly loved having lots of kids, but because they needed bodies to work the land. There was no such thing as hired hands back then. Those farms were poor. And it was hard work. At a very young age, kids started by milking cows, cleaning out manure, hauling, lifting and plowing - from dawn till well after dark. Consequently, Once the kids got into their teens, they were looking for ways to escape. My father left to work at the co-op when he was thirteen. Albert left for the Canadian military as soon as he could qualify - 18, I think.

At an early age, he was sent to Europe as part of Canada�s contribution to NATO. He was stationed in France before they were kicked out bye DeGaulle and then to Lahr, Germany. I think we was in Europe for about three years. While in Germany, he was in a car crash with a comrade. It was serious. His buddy died on site and Albert had both his legs broken at the thigh. He was in a military hospital for a long time. Those doctors were really bad because he was in pain and couldn�t walk properly for most of his life after that. He was sent home.

The first time I met Albert was just after that incident. I was about ten years old and was spending the summer with my aunt and my three absolutely-drop-dead-gorgeously beautiful cousins - Mimi, Claudette and Francine. We were at the farm (not their home) near the end of my stay and everyone was buzzing about the arrival of this new uncle. Just when I thought I�d figured out this family, there was always a new uncle, aunt, or cousin popping out from behind a rock somewhere.

I really didn�t like him at first. I�m not a lot like that side of my family. I�m much quieter and introverted - more English, I�d say. They�re a lot more, how shall I say, intense.

He had just come back from Europe and he wanted to let us all know how superior that made him. He spoke (loudly) in some phoney Parisian accent. He tried to pass himself off as a man of the world - sophisticated. Even at that age, I was cynical enough to know how bogus that was. I found out much later that most of the family was pretty disappointed in him at that meeting.

After that, he was posted to a camp in Dundurn, Saskatchewan, thousands of miles from my home near Ottawa. The next time I saw him he was on his way to the homestead from Saskatchewan (about a 2500 mile drive) and he just dropped in to our house on the way. He was with an army buddy and they were driving a Nash Metropolitan. That increased his value immeasurably with me. That was theee coolest car. It had all the handling characteristics of a one wheeled Buick, and the roof came off, and it was turquoise and white. They had driven the first 2000 mile leg with the top down all across the prairies and the northern forests of Ontario, Lake Superior.

My uncle had also lost his snobbery and that fake accent and gone back to being Private Albert. This is when I saw the real Albert. For a kid, he was like the Pied Piper. You couldn�t help but follow the guy. Everything he did was fun. Even things you thought weren�t fun became fun with him around. I�ve always had a pretty serious aversion to organized exercise and...well...work in general. He had us kids doing BX (military exercise) programs, painting things, building fires, hiking through the woods. We had a riot. And it was all because of him.

A few years later, I spent the summer working for another uncle at his electrical shop. It�s how I earned a few bucks as a teenager and kept up my French. Bye then, Albert was posted in Kingston, Ontario and he�d come up on weekends to help out on the farm. He was driving an Austin Healey Sprite. He had all the kids organized like it was a two month long camp. He had them herding cattle, helping on the hay wagon and having fun doing it.

We had a pretty good relationship, him and I. He liked to speak to me in English when all about us could only understand French. It was like telling secrets in public. We talked politics and life and how I was getting along with my father (not well, bye the way). He drove me around the countryside in that little Austin and he was may favourite uncle.

A few years later, while I was spending yet another summer working for my other uncle, Albert approached us both to go with him to New York City on a business trip. He was moonlighting for yet another uncle who had invented a set of wheels that attached to a snowmobile so you could ride it year round (bad idea, bye the way). We were going to visit prospective clients - Albert, uncle with the electrical business and me. We hitched up a wheeled snowmobile, in July, and headed toward the Big Apple.

It took us two weeks and I had a riot. My two uncles didn�t have so much fun though - lot�s of arguments. We visited distributors and individuals who had seen this contraption at a trade show. The high point was NYC itself. My eyes must have been as big as frying pans. We went to Times Square, Greenwich Village, Broadway. All in a �65 Ford Galaxie convertible (top down, of course) with a bright orange snowmobile tied to the back. We even parked just off Times Square that way. When we got back, everything was still there. I�ll never forget that trip thanks to Albert.

I never saw him spend much time with women. I really think he was gay - there were more than a few clues - but he stayed in the closet. His military training kept him in really good shape. Even though he was now a Colonel and had a desk job (supplies and services, I think) he was constantly training his body. He was the only one in the family who was built that way. The rest of us look like the Budweiser toadie-frogs.

When he hit his forties, he went into a period of depression (quite common on that side of the family), quit the military, moved to the homestead and about a year later he married a school teacher. I�m pretty sure she�s a lesbian. As far as I can tell, they got married to prove to us that neither of them were gay and to have a kid. They had the kid, who ended up being openly gay. I don�t know what that proves but it didn�t change Albert in my mind.

I went off to make a career in the West and got married and pretty much lost touch with those people. Around 1993, luvofmylife went to a reunion of sorts at the homestead. It was finally time to expose her to the clan. We had a great time but at the centre of it all was...Albert. He was in his mid fifties and except for the thinning grey hair, hadn�t changed a bit. He was parading around the lake (a pond really) in a flesh coloured bikini bathing suit, tanned, buffed, and looking completely naked. He was in his element. He was stomping on a Canadian flag (he loved to shock people with his separatist act) and was just a tad pissed. A few days later, when he was sober, we had a fairly civilized dinner with him. He was as affable as ever.

Then a couple of years ago we went to a big family reunion with people from all over the world in attendance. That time, he was really subdued. No butt-floss bathing suit or radical rhetoric. No drunken noise. The kids still followed him everywhere and he still made life a lot of fun for them. I was showing some of my sculptures and blown glass at a booth and I think he bought one of them but I didn�t have much more contact with him than that.

Last spring, I got a call from my mother telling me that Albert had in-operable cancer. He was in a state of depression and didn�t want to talk to anyone. He was stubborn, though. He snapped out of his depression and got back to exercising and making a general nuisance of himself. I guess his sisters were taking pity on him and he hated that. Even when he was confined to a wheelchair, he was pig headed and contrary. He wouldn�t let anyone operate that wheelchair.

On September 9th, at the age of 63, he died.

We didn�t go to the funeral. Maybe because I knew that death was imminent, I accepted it and went on with my life. I never gave him much thought until a few days ago - Christmas, to be exact.