“Oh no, here we go again, Uncle Brad,” Laurel said, rolling her eyes.

“What’s a rampike?” asked Andrew.

“A rampike?” Nathan repeated.

“Isn’t it incredible?” I said dramatically. Like my Uncle Steve before me, I have no intention of being boring while teaching something. I kept staring out window for a moment pointing with my finger.

I checked my young audience, and even shy Douglas from Altanta, only three years old, and still unfamiliar with his cousins, was looking out window. Everyone old enough to respond to my hijinks had done so. All little faces wore attentive expressions.

“A rampike is a dead tree, especially one that has been burned,” I told everyone. “Your dad taught me that word,” I told Douglas in my sensational educational tone as I pointed outside. “See where lightning hit and burned tree, leaving it without leaves and scarred. So, a rampike is a dead tree. This particular one was killed by lightning,” I emphasized.

“A rampike,” Laurel said.

“A rampike,” Douglas said.

“Rampike!” Andrew screamed.

One by one they enunciated alien word. They had gotten it. They had learned a new word. I could see their self-esteem growing because they had learned something that only adults knew!

Later, I was playing with Laurel. We were searching for big words in a book when her younger brother Nathan came by, looking a little left out, sparking a memory from my own childhood. My family was large and as a kid I sometimes felt lost in crowd at family events, until I discovered my Uncle Steve.

And another thought from my mother about raising six kids rang in my head: You multiply your love; you don’t divide it.

“Okay Nathan,” I said, eager to include him in our game. “You can find some big words in this book too.”

“Uncle Brad,” he giggled.

“Come on, find one,” I encouraged him.

“But I can’t even read yet, I’m only four,” he said cheerfully. He was right of course. So I picked up book, and we started learning to read. He was “tickled pink” to see what big words were. This incident would lead to other adventures.

On March 21, 1992, I was best man at my youngest brother Steve’s wedding. My brother was named after our Uncle Steve. Before he passed away, my Uncle Steve used to photograph all our family weddings. He had been enthusiastic about taking pictures, and everyone enjoyed his photographs immensely. Now trend was for weddings to be videotaped.

“Nathan,” I said, “when video cameraman comes over here, say, ‘This sure is obfuscatory.’”

“What?” he pondered.

“Ob-fus-ca-tor-y,” I carefully enunciated. “What’s that mean?” he blurted.

“It means it’s confusing,” I said with enough gleam in my eye so that he knew that I meant to have some fun.

The man with video camera headed our way and Nathan nervously anticipated moment.

“And what do you think, young man?” he said to Nathan, as he focused camera on him.

“It’s all obfuscatory to me!” he shouted. “That means it sure is confusing!”

The cameraman was startled and delighted. He had just captured one of those unexpectedly hilarious moments on tape. The incident reminded me of how my Uncle Steve would get his whole class excited about learning by doing something dramatic.

Once phenomenon of big words started, it steamrolled and quickly came right back at me.

“You’re being avuncular,” my sister Nancy said. “What’s avuncular?” I asked.

“It means acting like an uncle,” she said.

“This is going to get out of control,” I said.

“Yeah, but it’s fun,” she said.

A few months later, my Aunt Lucille and my Aunt Katherine were over for a birthday party. “You’re just nonchalant about all this fuss, aren’t you, Nathan?” my Aunt Lucille said to him.

I seized this opportunity. After all, Nathan’s Great Aunt Katherine was there, and it was her husband, my Uncle Steve, who had really gotten me interested in learning as a child. I took Nathan aside and told him, “Tell her you’re insouciant, not nonchalant.” We rehearsed word a time or two and Nathan ran back to Great Aunt Lucille at dining table.

“I’m insouciant!”

“What’s that mean?” she questioned.

Nathan ran back to me for meaning and then back to table. “It means I’m happy and carefree,” he shouted. Then Nathan smiled, drew one leg up in air, curled his arms toward his small chest, broke into hysterics of laughter, and his cheeks turned beet red. The adults guffawed from his unique contortion of joy.

When I looked around, I saw a smile on Aunt Katherine’s face. Her husband, my Uncle Steve, was responsible for joy on her face.

One day when most of family was home, Andrew, now a clear-eyed six-year old who was stretching up in height, said, “Uncle Brad, let’s talk about important science stuff now!” When I heard this, tears rimmed my eyes. I had said exact same words to my Uncle Steve when I was a child.

My thoughts went skyward and rested on heaven. I had come full circle since my Uncle Steve entered my life. He was a teacher and had inspired me to learn important science stuff when I was a kid. I badgered him with questions, and he never let me down. I mattered when I was around him, and learning was fun.

My Uncle Steve had prepared me for much more than science and math. He had taught me how to be an uncle. His life had answered one question that I had never thought to ask him when he was alive.

- by Bradley Hennenfent, M.D., author of new book: “Surviving Prostate Cancer Without Surgery.”

"Surviving Prostate Cancer Without Surgery" can be found in fine bookstores everywhere. Biblio Distribution (800-462-6420) and Roseville Books/Rayve Productions (888-492-2665) distribute book. It’s $19.95, a trade paperback, 334 pages, 34 chapters, ISBN Number: 0-9717454-1-2, and was published January 15, 2005. Twenty-seven illustrations and cartoons are included within book, which also includes an extensive index.

Website: www.SurvivingProstateCancerWithoutSurgery.org. Contact: Arnold@RosevilleBooks.com

Copyright © 2005 Roseville Books.

This article can be redistributed freely as long as it is kept intact with all information above included.

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