My In-law the Outlaw

In the Stanley Kubrick classic film, Full Metal Jacket, a Vietnam era door gunner fires out into the jungle below as Joker and Rafterman watch on. Our loveable jarhead eggs on the combat reporters with the memorable line, “You guys aughta do a story about me sometime.”

“Why should we do a story about you?”

“Cuz I’m so f*ckin good! That aint no sh*t neither!”

Not sure I’ve ever heard Uncle Jeff swear, at least certainly not as colorfully as my USMC on screen heroes depicted. But it’s that same spirit – that same chutzpah – that swagger that he carries himself with that reminds me of the door gunner. Jeff has it.

I’m sure he fashions himself more of a dusty old cowboy from the spaghetti westerns of days gone by. John Wayne ‘esque….Quiet and mysterious as he rolls into town with his cooler full of Bai’, his half-eaten jar of peanut butter in tow and maybe one or two beers. In that old western, Jeff, this man of depth and mystery, would be bellied up to a poker table, ready to gamble away 10 bucks – 20 tops and maybe even offer a coupon for some quality fried chicken.

I like Jeff.

His taste in music has not changed since 1982 but it covers all you need to know about him. Charlie Daniels, Hank Williams, the KING, Lynyrd Skynyrd… back in the day, his collection of bootleg CD’s mirrored his collection of records before it. Each CD skillfully but probably illegally burned from public libraries across Minnesota and North Dakota like the Outlaw that he is. But those lawless days are gone. Now Pandora, Spotify and Sirius XM radio loop his song track of life on the wagon trail between Bismarck and here…..in his sporty leased crossover of a vehicle…not a smudge on it.

To say Jeff is particular about things would be the understatement of the century. But that’s what makes him great – and he knows it. Just ask him. The man knows what he likes. He likes buffaloes not necessarily buffalo wings. He likes Pizza Ranch but prefers the one in Mandan over all the rest. Jeff likes a good thrift store and comfortable waking shoes. He has three or four pair of the same New Balance shoes in various stages of wear to prove it. Jeff likes an organized refrigerator. Jeff is handy to have around the house and knowledgeable about a lot of things. He just works at his own pace – a pace that he’s perfected over years of training.

A man of few frills, Jeff enjoys walking the golf course and considers it exercise - chasing his ball across the fairway without a cart…honorably – like golfing cowboys would do. He’s not Irish but Jeff uses Mulligans as if he was. Under the brim of that fancy sunshade hat, Jeff can masterfully swing his menagerie collection of hybrid clubs with varying accuracy. He regularly offers me a swing of said clubs and each time I’ve tried, I’ve lost another ball into the weeds. Lucky for me, Jeff scores each game like a boy who barely made it through the Robbinsdale school systems unscathed.

I like Jeff – that brother-in-law of mine.

He's a sports fan – steeped in rooting for the Twins, the Timberwolves, and the Vikings. More often than not though, I catch him watching golf or even bowling on the television. That’s probably why he doesn’t have a girlfriend. But we placate his weird ways and watch the Masters on the telly when he visits and when he leaves, we don’t tell him that now we like watching golf on tv too. Not bowling. That’s weird.

He’s been good to his baby sister, my wife. They fondly reminisce about spinning vinyl in his basement bedroom – younger sibling blindly adoring her wise, older brother. His version speaks more about tolerance than acceptance. When I hear about McDonald’s Cheeseburgers and WWF matches on the couch cushions, it’s as if I was there watching him politely beat the tar out of her. I have no question that if they tried this now it wouldn’t even be close. Michele could now easily whip that old man and make him pay for her childhood trauma, but she doesn’t because she loves him. And since she does – we do too.

It wasn’t the Door Gunner that suggested I do a story on him. It was Michele that suggested I do a story about Jeff. I guess she figured he’s one of the last remaining Peanut Gallery – a relic… a dwindling number of faithful readers left here on the Blog that checks in from time to time to catch up on the happenings of our family or the wanderings of my mind. And since it’s his birthday today – what better way to celebrate than for me to digitally tell the world how great he is at 52. Or is it 58? Is he friggin’ 60 already?

Or wait – maybe he’s 48…

Hell – I don’t know. Nobody knows how old he is.....because he hasn’t changed. The Man is set in his ways and hasn’t changed one bit in the 20 plus years I’ve known him. His taste in music? Same. His opinions on life and all things that make the world go ‘round. Still Jeff. His impeccable sense of style – nope, that hasn’t changed either. I think he was 59 when I met him. He dressed like it anyway….

Hell, I don’t know.

I do know though that he’s a good guy. A throwback to a bygone era….a cowboy on the dusty trail. I like Jeff.

“That aint no sh*t neither!”

 

Happy birthday, vaquero.