KNACK IN PROGRESS

Dear Spike:

There's a chess game, afoot, on the table in our breakfast nook. One of the rooks is a wine cork. A chopstick directs the play: pointed left, it's my turn; pointed right it's your Uncle Mikey's turn.

We move once or twice a day. Seldom more than that. A single game can take weeks to complete.

Nine months into this experiment in cohabitation, we've all fallen into a fairly comfortable, if sometimes awkward, routine.

The game is a good metaphor for that: The pieces move about the board — sometimes coming into conflict, sometimes just moving from here to there in service to some grander, yet unseen objective.

Your uncle spends his days sleeping in his room — except for when I send you upstairs to wake him for a turn at child care. Then, he slumps down the narrow stairs in his pajamas, often wrapped in a blanket. He reads and plays games with you. Sometimes he takes you to the park. And then, when I return, he climbs back up the stairs and falls asleep again. In the afternoons he teaches guitar and in the evenings he performs at the theater or the restaurant where he plays guitar and sings. It's not unusual for him to return home from work at 4 a.m., which is why he burns so much daylight sleeping.

Your uncle is a special guy. Different, to say the least. He's a brilliant musician and a gifted actor, but, alas, life is not a stage. He can be a challenge to communicate with. He's emotional. Maybe a bit bipolar. When he is happy, it is infectious. When he is depressed, the whole house seems to have a cloud over it. He seems to have a knack for teaching, but it's a knack in progress. Maybe it's in his cards. We'll see. I hope he finds his way.

Your mother mostly avoids or ignores the man living in our attic. It's not that they don't get along — just that they don't seem to have a lot in common, other than their love for you and their tolerance for me. She certainly appreciates what he brings to our family, though: There was a moment last night at dinner, for instance, when you were acting out and your mother and I were just too exhausted to correct behaviors for which you would generally receive a scolding. Your uncle swept in to assume the disciplinary role, correcting you for your dinner table antics and giving us a rest from our rather strict parenting regimen.

I straddle the ground between your mother and your uncle. I try to make sure we share a non-confrontational conversation at least once a day. Maybe about you. Maybe about chess. We're brothers, but there's not a whole lot else we share in common, either. I also try to communicate the things that, as adults sharing a home, we can all do to help smooth this sometimes difficult coexistence. Sometimes it feels as though I've inherited another child. At this point, though, it has become pretty clear to me that your uncle didn't come here seeking direction — and certainly not direction from me.

No, he came here for you. And that means a lot to all of us.

In the next few days, your uncle is going to decide whether he is staying with us next year. It seemed, earlier this month, that he was leaning toward sticking around. But after your great grandfather's death, it seems as though he's been pining to return home to California. I wouldn't brave a guess as to which way he'll fall, but either way we'll support his decision. We'd love to have him stay with us for another turn of the calendar. But if he leaves, we won't mind getting back some of the privacy we've sacrificed by inviting another adult to live in our home. On balance, I suppose, I hope he stays. He's good for you. And maybe for all of us.

There's something you should know: Even though Uncle Mikey came here for you, if he decides to leave us, it won't be because of you. I've known your uncle for 28 years, but that doesn't mean I know him very well. I do know, however, that he cares deeply for you. If he goes, it will be because he has decided that his pawns need to move this way, his knights need to move that way.

But you, my dear, will always be his queen.

Love,
dad