In 1961, NASA plastered promotional posters of Ham the Astrochimp all over the country: Ham dressed in a tiny space suit, Ham waving an American flag, Ham striking stoic poses after his 16.5-minute suborbital space flight. This stands out in my mind only because, in one of those photos, Ham bore a striking resemblance to my Uncle Owen.

The image captured an expression of utter bewilderment as Ham peered out through the bubbled windshield of his miniature monkey-sized space capsule just moments after splashing down in the Atlantic. His face still held the effects of experiencing zero gravity, followed by g-force acceleration, followed by positive buoyancy in ten-foot swells with high wind gusts. Uncle Owen possessed that same expression, no matter the circumstance.

Every Saturday when Uncle Owen arrived at Little League practice to pick me up in Ma's prized VW Bug, all I saw was Ham the Astrochimp, mouth ajar, a befuddled gaze pointing in two directions simultaneously, neither of which was the direction he was driving. A mustache crept down from his nostrils, curling around his lip like an expiring caterpillar. The lenses of his eyeglasses were so thick they threatened to ignite his face whenever they caught the slightest glint of sunlight. To avoid combustion, he would often drive backwards, away from the afternoon sun, using only the rearview mirror to steer.

I could never understand why Ma hated me so, sending Uncle Owen like she did. I'd duck below the dashboard the whole way home, praying no one would spot me.

Uncle Owen was Ma's brother. He'd lived with us since I was six, when Grandma kicked him out of her house. Even at forty-two, he was ill-prepared to leave the nest, but of course no one could blame Grandma for ejecting him. Why Ma took him in was beyond me. Perhaps she thought I needed a male role model, but this was not the way to go about it.

​From Uncle Owen, I learned how not to approach members of the opposite sex. I learned that the lint in one's bellybutton need not match the sweater one wore. I learned that earwax could in fact be used as a sculpting medium.

From Uncle Owen, I learned that evolution sometimes steers in reverse.