~ from OCTOBER 2004 ~
The first time I met my Uncle Roberto was at the Albany Airport, in December of 1986. He struck me at once as foreign and exotic, and extremely short. His resemblance to my father was striking, and this was startling. I didn’t know anyone who looked like my father. Having been raised in a sea of white faces, it was difficult to fathom that I was anything but like everyone else. I had always assumed my Dad was one-of-a-kind – an anomaly – yet here in the airport was a man remarkably similar in appearance and bearing. Unassuming, quiet, with a twinkle in his eyes and an occasional broad smile – kindness and menace in one impossible-to-fully-gauge expression.
As we climbed into the car, my Uncle looked around him with an odd, wide-eyed face of wonder. My Aunt explained that it was the first time he had seen snow in his life. I fell in love with him right there. He sat in the middle eat of the station wagon; my brother and I scrambled into the back, and Mom and Aunt Luz sat in the front. I watched my Uncle as he watched the snow fall outside.
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