Ricki Was My Uncle

One of my earliest memories is standing next to my sister, Angel, or as he would call her, "Face"—while he pushed candy through the fence to us at school for us to enjoy throughout the day or share with our friends if we wanted to. But let's be honest, Ricki probably didn't care if we shared it or not. He just liked being the cool uncle who showed up with candy.

As I helped my dad go through photos of Ricki to share here, I kept thinking there were photos missing. Then I realized they weren't missing photos, they were memories that are so fixed in my mind that I always thought there had to be a picture of them somewhere.

I can still see Ricki lifting weights in the yard and those bouncy curls. Some of who I am today is because of who he was.

I still love riding through the town banging my music! I remember playing outside and riding my bike as fast as I could from down the block, trying to beat the sound of Uncle Ricki's music coming from several blocks away, announcing his arrival before he even pulled up.

When Ricki found out I had gone to beauty school, he said, "OK, you know I need my shit whipped." Before long, I found myself leaning him over the kitchen sink to shampoo his hair before braiding it down or putting some rollers in it.

I once sat with Ricki at the hospital when my dad couldn't, and it was quite the experience. I sat there trying to keep a straight face and be serious while Ricki talked about everybody, pointing out the doctors and nurses. After sitting there for hours, he looked at me and said it was past my bedtime, that he was fine, and that it was time for us to go. On that car ride home Ricki asked me to take him to the store, and I told him no. I confidently drove right past the store and took him home. He laughed out loud, truly enjoying the moment we had just shared and leaving me questioning my own authority.

In the later years, I didn't see Ricki as much, but I always asked my dad about him and smiled as my dad told me funny stories about Ricki's latest shenanigans.

Ricki, you were loved, and you will be missed.

Rest well.

-Kelley Bartlow