from Farrell Ingle

There are many reasons for my existence. It can be traced back to my parents (obviously), to their meeting at the Block house so many years ago. It could be said that they were simply meant to be together and that it was in the cards that I'd come strutting into existence in the autumn of 1985. But I've always believed--and always told anyone who asks how my parents met--that my uncle Adam was the sole reason. He was my dad's best friend, my mom's step-brother. If it wasn't for him I might not be here.

Many beautiful things have been written about Adam over the past few weeks and I have found myself thinking what I could add. I figured that giving him the props he deserved for being that cog, that enzyme, that electric jolt that brought me into this world was worthy of what has been written over the past days. As I thought about what an integral part Adam played in my life I found myself recounting the many lucky instances in which our paths crossed. And while I probably never knew Adam in the same way many others have, my encounters with him have always been memorable.

I remember early visits to his epically dirty apartment where CNN was always on, the stove hadn't been cleaned since the 70s, newspapers and magazines were stacked to the ceiling, and bottles of balsamic vinegar lay on the counter with a price tag higher than my young mind could fathom. Adam was quick to offer me a taste as I gazed upon the red waxy corks and the ornate labels. I remember exploring North Beach with my father and Adam at a pace not even a spry teenager could keep, trying to munch down deliciously oily focaccia and trot along behind at the same time. I remember travelling to the Chinese herbal remedy store when mom and I visited and having lizard on a stick waved in my face when I was barely tall enough to see over the counter. I remember really wanting one.

It is interesting how our memory works. As I think back, I have trouble remembering which memory goes where chronologically or even who I was with (mother or father) when Adam told a magical story that I treasure still. But in the end the only truth is that these are memories that will stick in my mind forever, no matter how mashed up dates, times, and witnesses become.

I think everyone who knew him (or even encountered him only once) would quickly agree that Adam was, if anything, memorable. He made his presence known with a glow and effervescence that I will probably never encounter again. I will certainly miss him, but look forward to sharing stories about my uncle Adam with all those who knew and loved him. God knows there are plenty.

And when my kids ask me how my parents met, I'll know exactly what to say. Rest in peace Adam, you will not be forgotten.

Farrell