Uncle Bill

Uncle Bill was one of those uncles who wasn't actually related to us. He was a friend of the family to my dad's mom's parents. He never had kids and by the time I was born, was already pretty old and had moved to Florida. Apparently back in the day it was rather scandalous that the swedes were BFF with this Jewish guy... little did they know about the subsequent miscegenation to befall the secretly already-muddied family tree. (this is the subject of another explanation, the hilariously awkward interactions with the swedish family members about rumors of horse-traders staying at the family farm and how our branch of the family tree ended up rather swarthy as compared to the other branches...)
But Bill was always a presence, we stayed with him when we visited Disney World circa 1989 or so and he'd visit my grandparents regularly. I remember at some point coming down my grandparents' stairs and smelling cigarette smoke, being so confused and shocked that Bill was smoking in their living room. He explained that he'd never been a smoker, but once he turned 90, he started smoking one cigarette a day because, why not?
Uncle Bill died at the end of high school for me, before anyone I really knew had died. His estate was designated for my grandma, my uncle, my dad and me, in diminishing shares. I finally got my share sometime during my senior year in college. It seemed like a tremendous amount of money at the time. And it was. It paid for the last semester of college when my parents wouldn't. It financed quitting my miserable job to travel to Peru for a month. It went toward almost two months in Africa before law school. And the final chunk made the down payment on our house. There's no "lesson" here, just a belated "thank you" to Uncle Bill. You've made many important and good things happen in my life over the past few years. Thanks for helping me finish college, for some amazing travel experiences that helped make me, me. And thanks for our house! Thanks.