Thursday, March 26, 2020
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Uncle Karl was more than an uncle, more than a brother and more than a husband. He was a man of unique character, a friend, a mentor and a lover of life.
That life was not always easy. When he arrived in Canada from Jamaica, he had trouble finding work. He faced much rejection, but in his own irrepressible way, he persisted, eventually wearing down employers and securing a wide variety of jobs.
Uncle Karl eventually gained employment as a print setter at Southam newspapers and worked tirelessly, often seven days a week, driving 40 miles a day often through blizzards, and never took a sick day.
He certainly would have been justified in doing so. Uncle Karl suffered from a number of maladies, including heart disease and diabetes - something that deprived him of the pleasure of enjoying all things sweet, especially mangoes, ice cream and chocolate.
Well, not all things. Life might have handed Uncle Karl lemons - something he couldn't eat, by the way - but he certainly made lemonade. He had a boisterous voice, and infectious laugh and was full of energy. He could chat up a storm, and loved to talk about stocks, about politics, about Jamaica and about his beloved mother, to whom he referred as a saint. But as much as he loved to talk, he could also listen in equal measure.
I have countless memories of Uncle Karl, cherished memories. Memories of my sister and I riding our bikes to his magnificent home in Uxbridge, where he had a pond and a stream teeming with trout. Memories of the stories he told us and the meals he cooked. And memories of him buying me my first fishing rod and teaching me to fish in his stream.
It took me some time to learn, but Uncle Karl was forever patient. More times than I can remember, I would cast my line and get it caught in a tree. But Uncle Karl always came to the rescue, advising me that the trout were in the water, not the trees. I eventually got the hang of it, and "graduated" to fishing trips to Balsam lake or Big Cedar with Uncle Karl and my family.
Memories of irony, too - of how Uncle Karl, a man who couldn't eat sweets, always gave my sister and I big buckets of candy and cans of pop for Halloween. And memories of how he encouraged me in school, rewarding me with a few dollars for getting good grades.
My family and I will miss him always. But we take comfort in knowing that he is now enjoying a bowl of ice cream in the summer sunshine, down by the stream where the trout, and the laughs, are plentiful.
Deepest sympathy from Stevie, and the McDaniel family
Pic 1 Uncle Karl in his twenties
Pic 2 Uncle Karl & Rover
Pic 3 Uncle Karl & Dad on their tractors digging the up the foundation to build his home in Uxbridge
