April Fool

April Fool

by Mary Fahey

“Today’s my birthday, April 1st,” Uncle Ted said peering at me through bushy eyebrows.

“No it’s not,” I retorted.

“Yes it is. Did you get me a present?”

“Uncle Ted, you’re playing an April Fool joke on me. Aunt Josie, is it really his birthday?”

“I guess it is if he says so.”

In the early 1920’s, Ted Winkler of German Lutheran descent married my mother’s oldest sister Josie McGuire, an Irish Catholic. In those days marrying outside your religion and ethnicity brought hell and damnation upon the couple. They must have really loved one another because Ted had to go through Catholic teachings and sign multiple oaths regarding Josie’s faith including the upbringing of any offspring. They could not get married on the altar of St. Augustine’s Church, but declared their vows in the Chapel of the priest’s rectory. They never had children but I don’t think religion had anything to do with that. Although he didn’t attend church himself, Ted always honored his wife’s devotion. She attended Mass at least weekly and observed all Holy Days. Crucifixes and religious statues held a prominent place in their home.

Ted worked as a baker at a German bakery in Queens N.Y. In my youth, he made all my birthday cakes and our family always had goodies from Uncle Ted’s bakery. At Easter, he made bread in the shape of a bunny with a colored egg for an eye. His sense of humor showed itself one year when he misspelled “birthday” on my cake. I didn’t notice it until after I blew out the candles. “Look how he spelled birthday,” my sister Dottie whispered to me.

“Happy Birdday, Mary,” in pink frosting decorated my cake.

Uncle Ted sat with his big fish lips clenched in a wide grin. I said nothing because I thought maybe he didn’t know how to spell and wrote it phonetically as he pronounced it with his Brooklyn accent. I forgot that as a baker, he made “Happy Birthday” cakes all the time.

One time he sat on a kitchen chair watching me wash dishes. I was in a hurry and barely rinsed them before putting them in the rack to dry.

“I guess no one in this house needs a laxative,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because of all the suds you leave on the dishes.”

When my mother gathered with her three sisters for lunch as they did every week, they often complained about their husbands and Aunt Josie joined right in. But if one of the sisters said anything negative about Ted, Josie came to his defense with a sharp tongue. She could complain about him but didn’t let anyone else say a bad word against her Ted.

When Josie died in 1953, Ted bought a plot in St. Charles Catholic Cemetery in Farmingdale L.I. He carried his wife’s wishes through to the grave, arranging for a Catholic wake and funeral Mass. After the service he gave the deed to my mother. He knew he could not be buried with his wife so he passed it to one of her sisters.

“The plot is big enough for four graves,” he said. “I’ll be cremated so you may as well use it.” My mother and father are buried there with Aunt Josie.

In the early 1970’s Ted entered a Veteran’s Home in upstate N.Y. He spent much of his time doing leatherwork and mailed the finished purses and wallets to me. I gave some to my sister and still have many. Ted loved the horse races and once a year in April, he travelled down to L.I. to visit Aqueduct Raceway and bet on the horses. I’d meet him at the track and let him coax me into betting on a hunch. After the races, we ate dinner at a nearby restaurant before he caught the train. Every year I invited him to come home with me and stay overnight.

“I can cook breakfast and drive you to the train station,” I offered. He always declined.

Uncle Ted died at the Vet’s home in Bath N.Y. in 1978 at age eighty three. Every April 1st, I remember him as a funny and generous person but still wonder about the validity of his Fool’s Day birthday.