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Why do mothers and fathers hog all the love? Shouldn’t they share? Mother’s Day is around the corner, Father’s Day is coming, and I’m wondering why we can’t have an Uncle’s Day. Don’t those guys deserve their day in the sun, too?

My most colorful uncle is Mom’s youngest brother, Keith. When he was a kid back on my grandparent’s Illinois farm, Keith once lit a fire in the barn to keep warm … and burned it to the ground. A few years later, he made a homemade bomb out of gasoline, then detonated it in a secluded field. Grandpa saw the fireball and, despite his bad knees, took off after him. Keith won that chase, but he had to come home eventually. That was one fireworks show I was happy to miss.

I mostly remember Keith as the leader of his own private club, called the Mud Pud Club, comprised of Keith and my rowdy older cousins. I was just a little kid and I avoided those Puds, but that doesn’t mean they avoided me. One time, in full Mud Pudlian fever, Keith caught me and my older brother, Dave, and tied us to a metal pole in the basement. Then he went upstairs and turned out the lights. We screamed in the dark until Grandma came to our rescue. The last thing I remember seeing was Grandma chasing Keith with her big leather belt in hand. Keith won that race, too.

Hey, homeowners, are rowdy pests invading your own Mud Pud clubhouse? Is grandma not around to protect you? Then call Home Defenders and we’ll chase your pests like Grandpa chased Keith after he detonated that homemade bomb. Only we don’t have bum knees and we’ll catch those critters and belt ‘em good!

Well, I guess I just made a sound argument against having an Uncle’s Day. Happy Mother’s Day to all. And momma, don’t let your babies grow up to be Mud Puds. Please!

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