I really didn’t want to be there.

In my childhood eyes, Mamaw and Papaw Coleman’s farm near Dunn,La., was a dusty, boring place.

The rope swing could only entertain me for so long. Thetelevision was always on “Farm Market Report” or some otherfar-from-exciting program. And liquid refreshments were limited towater, milk and Donald Duck orange juice in small metal cans …Yuck! on all options.

Of course, Mamaw was always happy to see her grandson fromVicksburg. And although they were never high on my list of thingsto do, the trips across the river were an opportunity to interactat least a little with cousins and any other kinfolk who happenedto be there.

In the middle of everything was Uncle Leroy, who occupied abuilt-up lift chair in the center of the living room.

To me, Uncle Leroy was just … there. I didn’t know, or maybedidn’t really care to find out, that arthritis and other ailmentswere zapping him of his strength and ability to move.

As I saw him, Uncle Leroy was older than my dad and seemed a bitgruff and standoffish. So striking up any kind of meaningfulconversation with him was not on this little boy’s agenda.

As I grew older, the “family duty,” as some might call it, ofgoing to see the Louisiana relatives lessened.

I graduated high school, focused on finishing college and thenbegan living my own life. While I was doing all that over theyears, other family members and nurses cared for Uncle Leroy athome before he finally wound up in a veterans care home.

Uncle Leroy died March 11.

Last Sunday, family duty called me back to Louisiana, only thistime as a willing adult to serve as a pallbearer at hisfuneral.

I guess one of the worst things that can be said at a funeralis, “I never knew.” I didn’t speak it, but that thought was on mymind as I sat in the pallbearer pew listening to the eulogy.

Cousin Johnny Wade spoke of Uncle Leroy’s profound influence onhis life and in his chosen career path of cattle and extensionwork, and he spoke of our uncle’s service in the Navy in thePacific during World War II. All of that was information I didn’tknow … or hadn’t cared to bother to learn.

I cracked a little smile as my older cousin admitted to a lackof creativity when it came to Uncle Leroy’s gift for nicknamingpeople around him.

To Uncle Leroy, I was “Spook,” because of my Halloween birthday.It wasn’t a label I particularly embraced, but children aren’tsupposed to talk back to their elders so I just nodded or whateverand went about my business way back then.

Later in the service, my Uncle Al spoke of Uncle Leroy’s joywhen the family would get together for a cookout. I can’t recallever attending one of those.

Earlier in the funeral parlor, I was visiting with otherrelatives when someone observed that the only time the family getstogether any more is for “weddings and funerals.” As all of ourages advance, there are far more funerals than weddings on thehorizon.

Uncle Al urged the family to stay together as the years move on.Thanks to modern technology like Facebook, I’ve managed to getreacquainted to a degree with a few relatives whom I half-jokinglysaid I only “vaguely” remembered from my earlier years.

On the way to the gravesite, the pallbearers reminisced aboutgrowing up in Louisiana and some of the fun adventures they had. Ifelt a bit out of place, but was really happy to learn a littlemore about my relatives and their experiences.

In closing the funeral service, Uncle Al encouraged everyone tokeep a fond memory of their own times shared with Uncle Leroy.

Having the honor of serving as a pallbearer at Uncle Leroy’sfuneral will be my fondest memory. But now, after learning moreabout the man I never really knew, I kind of wish I had more.

That’s all for now.

Write to Matthew Coleman at P.O. Box 551, Brookhaven MS39602, or send e-mail to mcoleman@dailyleader.com.