The Chronicles of Uncle Bullshit

Everyone has those token family members who have quirky traits. Some family members collect unicorn statues, some have too many cats, and some get drunk at inappropriate occasions (school picnics or funerals). We have them all, and I have several. 

Today I’m going to talk about Uncle Bullshit.

Uncle Bullshit is named as such because after he tells a story and leaves the room it’s not uncommon to hear someone exclaim ‘bullllllllshiiiiiit.’ He has been known from a young age to start out a story within acceptable bounds, and then as time progresses and he starts to repeat it, it gets crazier and crazier.

An example: two years ago he told us that he was in London with a mate where they were, unfortunately, mugged. I’ve been mugged too. I was tottering home from the pub one night (yes, a bit drunk), laptop over shoulder, arms loaded with shopping and handbag dangling over wrist. The guy ran past, knocked me over and grabbed my handbag (yes, I did get it back eventually, credit cards and cash missing). I don’t question that being mugged isn’t traumatic, I was certainly upset, so I had no reason to doubt the original version of his story. At first it was believable - he claimed they had been confronted by a man with a knife. He claimed that they had handed over their gear, the mugger had run off and the crime had been reported to the police.

One year later, my sister, PartyGirl, broke up with her boyfriend for many, very valid reasons. Uncle Bullshit had decided to take the ex boyfriend’s side and had made some offensive phone calls about the issue, which had been responded to just as offensively. In response to this, he sent an email aimed at my mother (god I’m glad we have this in writing), and one of thing he included was an acusation that my mother did not care when he was in hospital in London - in intensive care no less - fighting for his life after the dangerous knife fight he participated in when confronted by a mugger/attempted murderer.

WTF?

So it has progressed from a stock-standard mugging:

To: 

This is what we have to deal with. I cut him off years ago because I have an issue with the illegal behaviour he actively participates in, but I am kept up to date by the rest of my family who still, for reasons unknown, communicate with him. So before I finish, here is one more story that pretty much sums up ‘Uncle Bullshit.’

My father was in a car accident. He was driving down the Monash highway in his ute at about 6.00am. He was minding his own business when BOOM, a guy hurtled onto the road, merged uncontrollably and smashed into the side of his car. It was a hit-and-run, and my dad’s car was un-drivable. He rang the cops, and witnesses who’d seen the impact corroborated the story. He wasn’t injured, and he was able to replace the car so all’s well that end’s well. Dad told the story of his car accident to Uncle Bullshit during one of his visits to see him.

Fast forward, twelve months later.

Uncle Bullshit is sitting in the room with my family when he leans back and says casually,

‘Did you hear about my car accident?’

‘No,’ replies Dad, ‘what happened.’

‘Well I was drivin' down the Monash Freeway, minding me own business when BOOM! Outta nowhere this driver comes down the onramp and smashes into the side of me! Turns out he totally wrote off my car! I tried chasing him for about ten k’s, got up to about 180k’s an hour at one point! I had the cops on the phone and they told me that they had him in sight on the chopper so I could stop the pursuit. After that I realised I’d been injured so had to go hospital’

Everyone in the room either exchanged knowing looks, or smirked into their tea. It was clear that Uncle Bullshit has forgotten that it was my dad who told him the story in the first place. To my Dad’s credit though, he didn’t flinch.

‘Shit,’ said Dad, ‘I would’ve thought that a high speed pursuit with police chopper escort would have made the news!’ Uncle Bullshit shook his head,

‘Nah, they didn’t want any publicity! Didn’t want to encourage other members of the community to do what I did.’

‘Well, thank god you were okay,’ said Dad, and that was the end of it, stored away for a session of hysterical laughter as soon as Uncle Bullshit went home.

You Put Your Right Leg In...

A Memory...

Aunt Nutty, also known as Pinnochio

There are many things I remember about my family growing up. Good and bad, fun and sad, just like everyone else. With two younger sisters and a baby brother, there was never a lack of action but the majority of the truly heinous and wonderful memories involve my extended family. And my extended family are extensive, with some being bestowed titles depending on their quirks or dominant personality traits. For example, is it wrong that to this very day I casually refer to one of my aunts in conversation as "Aunt Nutty" and all of my friends know exactly who I'm talking about? Or maybe that is disturbing? Food for thought... I mean, the woman told us that she had terminal cancer at one point, only to be caught in a lie a few months into her non-existent chemo treatment... hmmm...

One thing I must express here, in writing for all of you, is that these posts regarding my family are all completely true and only occasionally embroidered/exaggerated for entertainment value. This particular snippet however, is 100% fact.

So, a memory of Aunt Nutty, who's real name I won't divulge because one must always work to protect children and the mentally deranged, in my opinion anyway.

An occasion for celebration. I think it was Christmas Day. Always chaotic, and always a chance for me and my cousin TJ to find mirth in everything. I enter the kitchen, where Aunt Nutty is hurrying from oven to sink to bench. She is alone, and walking freely in the haste one normally possesses when attempting to cater for 20+ people. After five seconds of bustle she notices my entrance and immediately slopes into a well-defined limp in her right leg. Neither of us acknowledged the fact that I've just witnessed her moving around without hinder, and so I hurry to assist her with the food. Finally, I can't help myself.

"Why are you limping, Aunt Nutty? Did you hurt yourself?" She looks at me in wide eyed amazement.

"Didn't you hear? I had a massive stroke!" I exclaim with the level of concern appropriate for when you know someone is lying, but you don't have the energy to call them on it.

"A stroke? Oh my god! When? How did I not know about this! You must have been in hospital for a while?"

"It happened a while ago, big blood clot on the right side of my brain," she tapped her head and nodded. "I thought your father would have told you."

Truth be told my parents were probably also unaware of her latest brush with death - they'd also been unaware of her fake-terminal cancer (I'd been sworn to secrecy as my mother was pregnant at the time and apparently wouldn't have been able to handle the stress of it all). So while I should have bitten my tongue and left the kitchen, I was in my late teens, extremely opinionated and prone to ranting... 

"Aunt Nutty, it's strange you're limping on your right leg." She looks at me while stirring some  sauce into a seafood dish that will later give several members of the family food poisoning.

"Why?"

"My best friend is a nurse, and she works with stroke victims. She said just the other day that if the stroke is on the right side, it is mostly the left side of the body that gets affected, so shouldn't your limp be on the left side?"

Now I have no proof that this is true, I think I'd heard it on TV, but the effect was very amusing.

"Oh well, my stroke was a bit different you know, very rare! I was lucky they were able to stop it at all. Also, I'm ambidextrous, so both sides of my brain work the same way, that probably had something to do with it." 

Ambidextrous indeed.

"Wow, it's pretty complicated brain surgery from what I've heard," I replied, "because they have to get the clot out as quickly as possible. They've managed to keep your hair intact though. Do you still have the stitches?" She paused, grasping for an explanation.

"Oh, umm, yes, well it can require surgery, but in my case I was able to get it fixed with medication. Like I said, very rare."

I respond with exclamations of brilliance aimed at her amazing doctor. Fancy being able to get rid of her big deadly blood clot remotely (and no doubt, miraculously)! I finally tire of the conversation, grab a drink from the Eski and head outside.

Three hours later, in the car on the way home, my little brother, GolfBoy, looks at my dad in all his eight-year-old innocence and asks,

"What was wrong with Aunt Nutty's left leg?"

Impressed with his attempt to know right from left, I seek to immediately correct him  -  he clearly had it confused with her right leg, only I was interrupted by my 16yo sister, PartyGirl.

"Oh yeah, that's what we were laughing at this afternoon!" I remembered wondering what all my cousins were giggling about as they lounged on the trampoline. She continues, "Yeah, she wasn't limping when we got there, and then she started limping on her right leg, but a few hours later she swapped to her left. What an idiot!"

"Yeah Dad," I pipe in, "She told me she had a massive stroke with a big blood clot on the right side of her brain, that was somehow resolved without the need for brain surgery. I told her that her limp was on the wrong side, so she swapped legs." My siblings cracked up laughing as my parents exchanged a knowing look.

And people wonder why I call her Aunt Nutty?

* A Note.

Although it seems I am making light of this situation, I certainly do not take the issue of stroke lightly and while I laughed it off at the time, the fact someone would make up a story like that horrified me. The amount of harm my Aunt Nutty has caused over the years with her lies and behaviour has caused an irreparable rift in our relationship. I simply cannot accept why the family indulge her in her lies. If it is a mental health issue, as my father claims, then why has it never been treated? Unfortunately, Aunt Nutty's dependency on unnecessary prescription medications has had a horrific impact on her health. It's a shame that such a beautiful, vibrant woman has had her life so horribly impacted, ironically by a strange desire to be sick all the time - to the point she'd communicate that she was terminally ill. While I forgave her for it a long time ago, I'll never forget the despair I felt when I heard my beloved Aunt was dying... and that it had to be kept a secret from my parents... only to be told later it was all a horrifying lie. If I had my time again I'd encourage my family to get her the help she needed - before it was too late.