Uncle Wilkensack

When I was little, I had an imaginary friend. His name was Uncle Wilkensack. Actually, I had twenty-one imaginary friends because Uncle Wilkensack had a wife, they had seventeen kids and they had two pet alligators.

I can still remember the first time I met them. I was sick with what everyone back then called “the croup”, something I had often. I was lying in bed with a high fever when Uncle Wilkensack and his wife appeared.

It was summer in Tennessee, but they were dressed in winter clothes. A wool coat and a boxy hat on him, a silky fur coat and pillbox hat for her. Dressed up for some fancy shindig, Mrs. Wilkensack completed the look with pearls, bright read lipstick, and circles of rouge on her powdered cheeks. She smelled like White Shoulders perfume as she leaned over - they were about four feet tall - to take my hand. Uncle Wilkensack touched my forehead and patted my cheek. They never spoke, just smiled and fussed over me. I felt safe and loved. I was four years old.

I didn't meet their kids until later, then the alligators appeared one morning as I was watching Captain Kangaroo in the living room. Unnoticed under the coffee table until Mama came in to vacuum and almost sucked them up with her new Electrolux.

I don't know who was more surprised, Mama, me, or the alligators. I raised such a fuss Mama finally gave in and the alligators were spared. As you can imagine, I had lots of fodder for stories with the Wilkensack's around.

My mama taught me to read before I started kindergarten. I fell in love with books and the magic inside each one. I wanted to do that, I wanted my name on the cover - to be the one who turned words into something magical - to give someone an escape from reality. To make someone laugh, show them the Wilkensack's, and take them on our adventures.

I never put those stories down on paper, they were best for telling - but they were MY stories and they showed me that my words had power.

I'm not sure when Uncle Wilkensack and his family decided to move on to the next kid that needed them. There were no goodbyes - I probably had my nose stuck in a book and didn't notice them packing their suitcases. But every time I sit down to write, I can't help but think of them and say a little thank you.

Mandy Haynes

WHERE WE’RE FROM

Sharp as a Serpent's Tooth: Eva and Other

Stories by Mandy Haynes