Butter Packets and 'Urnals'

My cousin Michael died this week at 44. One thing I’ve learned in the past year is that stories are important. Here’s mine.

Mike and I didn’t know each other well as adults, but there were moments. He and his parents (Uncle Bill and Aunt Cathy) and sister (Suzanne) were relentless in pursuit of their favorite prizes during an ugly Christmas ornament competition that happened at my mom’s house. Each of them scored exactly the bizarre bauble they desired, even if they had to swipe them from other unfortunate family members. It was hilarious.

My favorite memory happened much earlier. When Michael was a toddler -- circa 1980 or ‘81 -- Bill and Cathy invited Lisa and me to spend a week with them and Mike in Cape May, New Jersey, the favored Jersey shore point of my mom’s family. Each time we were in a restaurant that week, I remember Michael raiding the butter packets and gobbling a few before his mom caught him. And I remember taking him into the boardwalk men’s room, where he pointed to one of the fixtures and exclaimed loudly to me: “You use that urnal!”

Goofy memories, I know, but they gave me a taste of the funny little moments my own toddler boys would bring me 20+ years later.

~217~