While writing this sentence, the roaring sound of a black, old Chevrolet is disappearing in the distance. There's a man in this car, a Dutch man, my uncle. He grew up in the same village I have lived in since I was born, and now he's gone once again.

For 5 years, my uncle has lived in America with his wife, two daughters and family dog. Ten days ago he returned to his hometown to celebrate the funfair in the village, an annual event, and the highlight of the year. Locals save money for months to spend it all in three days, the first Wednesday, Thursday and Friday of September. And so does uncle America. The name makes him sound like a superhero, doesn't it?
Well, to be all sentimental, he was to me.
As a kid, I saw him pretty often when I was at my grandparents. They took care of his lunch, I guess, and of some stuff I never understood. Customers and money. Sometimes the phone rang when neither my grandparents nor my uncle was around and my grandpa always told me to pick up the damn thing if it rang - I never did, though, shy as I was.

You might ask who his customers were, or why he spent so much time at my grandparents. The answer is this: My uncle had his own company. He brought old timers and car parts overseas, from the US of A and sold them to men. The type of men who likes old timers from the USA. Leather jackets, the smell of tobacco hanging around them. Or maybe, that was just one costumer. I don't know, but it's my romanticized memory, isn't it?
The cars were fixed a bit in the garage uncle owned. This garage was close to my grandparents house - about a 5 minute walk. And so I did, sometimes, walk those five minutes to the garage where my uncle fixed his cars. Next to his, there was another garage that was used as a rehearsal room for some kind of band. I always hoped to hear them play, but never did.

Last week, Uncle showed up at my brothers birthday without telling us first. What a surprise that was, and a fun one. Dad and he talked about cars, about the horse racing game that was coming up during the fair - which actually means betting and drinking and especially, it means drinking. Today he came by once again to pick up his coat and to take a film with him. Tomorrow morning, he's leaving for America once again. It's fun to see him one week every year. That's probably what keeps my Superuncle dream alive a little, while he's living his own. His American dream.
Idiot.

n_n