A Post Card

If you knew Uncle Sal, the card made perfect sense. My uncle was a cabbie in New York. Boisterous and loud, he loved being the center of attention. Loved hearing his own voice, delivering one-line zingers so fast his audience couldn’t catch their breath. His laughter booming around the room like a cannon ball.

He was always going on about how he was a true New Yorker, born and raised in the Big Apple. He would never leave. There was no reason to even think about it. Fares that took him over to New Jersey, he would say, were an injustice. He had to race back to his beloved city and take a shower after.

So, when the post card came, I laughed so hard I lost my balance. Caught myself on the kitchen table. Tears ran down my face fast and free, I soon couldn’t see the picture of hilarity.

Was it Photoshop? Some prank staged photo? How did he pull this off? Who knew?

Sal, my uncle, the cabbie who could eat an entire Italian sausage pizza by himself and loved his pushcart lunches, kneeled there, smiling like a Cheshire cat. He was dressed as a hunter in full camo of all things! With a taxidermy deer and bright-eyed bobcat. I envisioned him driving his Checker Cab through the trees, fields, and streams. Windows rolled down and his radio blasting. Frank Sinatra’s voice singing about making it there. I still can’t stop laughing.

Copyright © 2014 Eric Schweitz

Writing My Legacy


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