Day 212 My Impressive Uncle

August 6, 2015

Day 212

Aunt Nancy and Uncle Bill (stolen from Cindy Piper's FaceBook Page)

An era is over. What was common and natural to my existence, Uncle Bill and Aunt Nan, is now a thing of the greedy past. I write blurry eyed and snotty nosed. There are just some things in life that never change. I can see him smiling through a car window at me as we rolled out of his driveway while I am sobbing my little heart away. He sometimes would stick out his lower lip egging me on to further sobs. You got to love him!

My uncle Bill has a better grasp on reality than any of us, he crossed over. His physical body expired a couple of weeks ago but his spirit lives. What he saw in part he now sees fully, his risen Savior. The hymns he loved to sing, he knows them now to be completely true. What would he want to communicate back to us? Something to think about.

Bill Fountain is a foreboding man of God. He would let you know what he thought and you never had to guess where you stood with him. But he never scared me. As long as Aunt Nan was around, there was nothing he could do if it wasn't sanctioned by her. And she did love me, her Lynne Beth. She is my father's oldest sister. Her bubbly personality loomed larger than her husband's tallest point. Nancy was a tiny woman not reaching 5 feet while her husband, Bill, at least 6 feet tall could put her in his lap or carry her around on his shoulders. That would have been fun to see.

Her warmth made up for Bill's austere ways. And no, she didn't wear the pants of the family, she and Bill operated fully as partners. Bill listened to Nan! And Nan listened to Bill! They had to. They both made themselves perfectly clear. His was a deep resonating voice either issuing deep spiritual truths or firm and sometimes not so loving discipline. Hers was a sing songy smiley voice that always inflected positive and ended higher than she started. Both Bill and Nan were influencers in their own individual ways, both made a significant impact for the Kingdom of God here on earth.

Uncle Bill was a handsome man with a gorgeous smile.  Words leave me when I think about describing it but his smile always left me wondering; is he smiling with or making fun of me. Uncle Bill would dish it out and yet would allow me to scoop it right back to him, always with a smirk that left me with more questions than answers. He never felt a need to wrap things up neat and tidy. He reveled in gray areas. He loved thinking and always encouraged it in others.

He allowed my aunt to bring me home with them every once and a while during the summer and for that I loved him. I was an "in your face" type of child, I wasn't the easiest to have around. It wasn't because I demanded much it was just that I was always asking questions, always processing, always analyzing and terrified of tornadoes which seemed a daily event in Indianapolis. My demand looked different and maybe more exhausting. But Uncle Bill never gave me the sense that he was annoyed, I always felt appreciated.

I spent many hours "sleeping" on my father's lap listening to him and my uncle, well into the early hours, wrestling with what they would call the "heavies". The sovereignty of God, free will, the permissive will etc., these were just a few of the light topics they would take apart late into the night. Uncle Bill loved these discussions, they were like breathing for him.  And as for me, the sleepy opossum on my father's lap, it was my first theology class.

There is much about Uncle Bill that I do not know, for little children rarely put two and two together. Now, as an adult, I am curious. What job did he have when I was growing up? What did he go to college for? What was his childhood like? I do know, however, he always provided a warm and lovely home for his wife and children, a welcoming place. Their meals were amazing and I can still see him at the head of his table eating with his long arms. The discussions were always lively and he was always laughing at the things his wife would say. I can see her smiling straight ahead telling us stories while Bill is shaking his head looking at her sideways.

Bill and Nan always impressed me. Their marriage was beautifully real. They would break out into frustration with one another never apologizing for their public heated discussions. They allowed you to witness true emotions and then gave you a view of resolution. I watched and took notes. I often think of them when my husband and I are going back and forth. They gave me the freedom to be upset knowing that resolution must happen also.

This couple walked many miles together. After dinner they would go for at least two miles and I was privileged to be on some of their walks. I loved watching them go hand in hand. I loved watching them sit on a couch together.  Nan would curl up almost in his lap. They clearly enjoyed one another's company. They gave all four of their children a great view into a working marriage based on commitment and chemistry. These are almost extinct.

Bill encouraged conversations and for this I am grateful. When I think back, I realize that Bill always allowed Nan airtime. He rarely interrupted her stories, he would interject every now and then some sort of correction, but he never impeded her flow. Many of those conversations happened over Paul Bunyan sized bowlfuls of ice-cream. You never had to apologize for the size of your bowl, Bill would always out do you.

Typical pose -(picture from Dave Fountain's Facebook page)

Bill allowed his wife to be grumpy in the early morning hours. Nan was an early riser but slow responder. You had to give this bubbly gal room in the morning to allow her bubbles to form, she'd go flat over night. Her voice didn't operate until after ten in the morning. He knew her, he loved her, and he allowed her to be fully Nancy Treichler Fountain. This is a good man.

If he could have he would have taken Nan down the homesteading trail with his love for all things nature but instead he would spend his days in suburbanville helping her make strawberry jam and applesauce. That was the closest he was going to get.

There were many holidays we spent in their Indianapolis home. I can still smell the kitchen, oh the food that came out of that productive place! Not every man allows so many people in his home, but Uncle Bill sure did. I am grateful for all the memories, what a privilege.

After Nancy died Bill remarried a dear, pretty woman named Barbara. Nancy was his first wife, the recipient of his young enduring and faithful love, the mother of his four beloved children and grandmother to his dear, dear grandchildren. No one would ever take her place. Barbara, his second wife, was the recipient of his learned love. He knew how to be a good husband. Though Barbara and Bill's time was brief it was impactful. To have someone bring you into your old age is a rarity and Barbara was beautiful to do this for her new husband, my Uncle Bill.

It is an honor to have known a man called Bill Fountain. He has played such a significant role in my life.  He stood for what is right, challenged me in my thinking, and called me to higher levels. After his wife died he would send me pictures that he thought I would enjoy. He gave my daughter a teacup for her wedding from his wife's collection. His austerity was sometimes misleading for he was a kind man.

Uncle Bill was not perfect, only One was. And Uncle Bill knew him on earth and is now talking the "heavies" with Jesus. I look forward to meeting up with Uncle Bill and Aunt Nancy on the other side. Until then we must live as if eternity is seconds away.


Random Memories:

~Tastiest Bushels of Red Delicious apples in his basement.

~He always had a great sound system playing wonderful music that wafted through the long living 

  and dining room.

~Sitting on a couch with his one leg tucked under the other.

~Playing cards with a shit-eating grin (sometimes you have to call a spade a spade)

~Getting his two year old daughter to say the darndest things "Fiat Daddy!"

~Praying over my rosary while driving with him hoping that I would live another day as he had the 

  lead-est foot in town.

This I did not appreciate.

All Flesh is Like The Grass by Fernando Oretga- Dedicated to the Fountain Family on this side of eternity