No, he’s not my uncle, but our good friend and former neighbor from Wilmington NC; Michelle Wyatt Mrozkowski’s. She first published this piece on Facebook and I asked her permission to share this story with you. It’s a beautiful everyday story with a lot of learning for all of us. Michelle writes extremely well, so watch out for her in the future. Read more about her below.
The time period was late middle school/early high school for me. I wasn’t old enough to drive or to work a summer job so most of my summers were spent lying on my back under the whir of my super-fake-paneled ceiling fan in my room with all of the windows open, listening to .38 Special or Journey from the jukebox at the Weaverville pool.
I would sleep late, tape Casey Kasem’s top 40 from my radio to a cassette tape, eat that horrific diet food my mother always kept me on, and invariably wound up getting myself into all sorts of trouble with any one of my awesome summertime friends (you know who you are).
Uncle Hershel lived up the street from me with Aunt Doris. They lived at 15 Lakeshore Drive and we lived at 51 Lakeshore Drive. I loved going to Hershel’s house because Doris was always busy and Hershel was always relaxing with coffee (black). One particular summer Hershel started picking me up in the morning and taking me with him on his errands.
I’m going to tell you about two regular errands he took me on. First, I’m going to tell you about Mrs. Learn. Mrs. Learn lived in a small camper in the area that is now the shopping center where Bellagios is in Woodfin. Mrs. Learn lived in this camper with two Afghan hounds. She lived in utter filth and was a constant danger to herself. She would turn on her little oven and forget to turn it off nearly burning the place up. She would forget to feed her dogs. She always forgot to bathe. Hershel would take me over to Mrs. Learn’s where I would sit and listen to Mrs. Learn tell me about her adventures in breeding and raising Afghan hounds. I’m not even sure if the tales she would spin were true or not. And I’m pretty sure the spiciness on her breath was that of whiskey. But while Hershel would work on fixing things on her little camper and while he would clean her yard area up for her or while he would unload groceries he had bought for her, I would pet her dogs (with magnificent dreads) and laugh at her stories and silently be a bit horrified in a pre-pubescent diva sort of way. But I loved our mornings with Mrs. Learn. I loved that Hershel took me to see her. I marveled at how a human being could get themselves into a state like “Learn” (the name Hershel called her).
We would leave Mrs. Learn’s and head up the road about a few miles to Marvin’s house. Marvin lived alone in Woodland Hills in a house that had once been occupied by his parents who had passed. Marvin’s parents had been close friends with Hershel. Marvin had an Ivy League college degree and had taught, according to Hershel, at Harvard. For a short time Marvin had taught at one of the area high schools, but his “problem” had caused him to be unemployable.
I now believe in looking back that Marvin was an alcoholic who had lost his driver license. Hershel and I would go to Marvin’s house in this lovely neighborhood just outside Weaverville and we would take him groceries (healthy items). We would clean up the house as much as possible and Hershel would mow the yard for Marvin. I thought it was weird because Hershel was much older than Marvin, but Marvin didn’t seem to mind our company and Hershel’s care. He didn’t have much to say, so hours spent there didn’t go by as quickly as they did at Mrs. Learn’s. But I’ll never forget the awe I felt at Marvin’s high dollar education and his lovely paid-for home in Woodland Hills and the circumstances of his life. I was too young to understand the power of addiction, the fragility of the mind, the broken spirit that takes over souls when too much has been too much. But I did learn something about love without judgments, about acceptance, about being a good neighbor and a fisher of men.
And in those last summers of childhood when I walked with Hershel, carrying cleaning supplies and groceries, wasting away hours I could have spent organizing my sock drawer, in those summers I learned things that call out to me now, with urgency, “Do not give up. These times will pass. Be strong. Don’t let this life get you, friend.”
Being an adult is hard. The world can be brutal. Life on this planet can wreck our resolve and make the strong falter. I know that I have danced on the edge, peered into the abyss from which people do not return, managed to slip through Fate’s cracks and lived to see another glorious day. And that, I know, is God’s grace.
Sometimes I look in the mirror and I see Mrs. Learn’s forgetful eyes, or I reach for a little something to take the edge off and I see Marvin’s shaking hands. I think at those times I am the most grateful for the lessons Uncle Hershel taught me, for his foresight in showing me what the world can turn a person into if one isn’t careful and vigilant.
Hershel, God rest your soul, I owe you one. I haven’t forgotten. I learn still.
Michelle Wyatt Mrozkowski grew up the mountains of southern Appalachia, near Asheville, North Carolina. She attended the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill, graduating with an English degree. Michelle has worked for 15 years in election administration: specializing in public policy, elections accessibility and elections technology. She is the co-owner of a web development firm in Wilmington, North Carolina that builds complex database-driven sites with social networking components. Michelle enjoys creating content and watching it spread. Michelle also works for Inclusion Solutions, a company that provides products & services to election administrators. Michelle is married to her company’s technical director, Andy and they have two children, Wyatt and Georgia.
