Let me explain something before we get started. My Uncle Aron’s full name is Aron Ray Bugler. Most people think the last name should sound like someone who plays a brass horn instrument called a “bugle.” You know, like the Army guy who plays “Taps” of a morning. But Bugler is my last name too and “Byoogler” is not the way the name is pronounced nor who my peo ple are. Our last name is spoken like plain ol’ “bug” and then “l-e-r” the same as anybody would pronounce “ler” like in the word “antler” or “butler.” Bugler is it, plain and simple, even if it looks like something else. I just wanted to get that straight before I told the next part that is another word play with our last name as far as I can tell.
Way, way back in the 1970’s, before I was even born, somebody started calling my Uncle Aron, “Boog.” You know, like a ghost would say “Boo!” and then put a “g” on it. His nickname doesn’t sound like “Bug” as in our last name, but everybody took it up, so I never heard him as anything except Uncle Boog, and I’ve known him all my life as he happens to be my dad’s brother and my grandma’s son. Even people who don’t know him very well call him “Boog,” too, but not the uncle part. Whatcha gonna do?
Somebody called him “Boog,” the name stuck, and so that’s who he is and always will be, I suppose. His first name “Aron” is not spelled like the Bible-name “Aaron.” You know, Moses’s brother. Most people comment about that right away. His name came off the spelling of Elvis Presley’s middle name, but that has nothing to do with the personality that he is. Uncle Boog, I mean, so you can just forget that I mentioned anything about Elvis. Also, I don’t reckon I’ve ever heard anybody call him Boog Bugler, just Boog or Uncle Boog. That’s it.
Uncle Boog has been called a lot of things besides Boog though, most of them not very nice or said in a reverent tone of voice. One of the kindest verdicts ever rendered upon his pretty much worthless hide was that he was a bit of a mischievous rascal. His mama, that is my grandma on my dad’s side, believed that he was a good, heaven-bound boy with a kind heart and generous soul but who was easily tricked into careless, irresponsible, and devilish acts by wicked, manipulative friends and Satan-worshipping women. Nothing was further from the truth about him being good and heaven-bound, but nobody wanted to disappoint Grandma, who really w
as kind and generous, if a bit naïve, so they let her keep her ignorant beliefs regarding the true nature of Uncle Boog’s actions, figuring nobody would ever get hurt by them. By that, I mean her beliefs, not his actions. Lots of people have been hurt by the things he’s done. Could be some have even died. I wouldn’t bet against it.
Grandma never knew anything about what Uncle Boog really did throughout his days, and now she’s dead and will never know any better, God rest her uninformed soul. I reckon some of her lack of enlightenment could be blamed on me as I was as guilty of hiding the truth from her as anyone else, maybe more so, maybe even the worst since I happened to be one of his constant companions from the time I was thirteen years old or thereabouts. Yep, I was about that age when we became bosom buddies the best I can remember, and we were pretty tight back in those days, tight as ticks s
ome old folks might say. Maybe we still are, but we don’t see each other much these days since we became adults and left all our foolish ways behind. Maybe, he was the fool; maybe I was. It doesn’t matter. I haven’t sought him out in years nor he me. Whatcha gonna do?
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