Pour One Out for Uncle Ted

Founder Maria Bruno reflects on the life of her uncle and role model

A society that doesn’t celebrate people like my Uncle Ted is a society that I’m not interested in living in. 

I don’t often share details about my personal life with the crowd. For as much as my political opinions and policy thoughts are frequent and public, I save my actual life just for me. Today, I’m making an exception. 

My Uncle Ted just passed away, and I’d like to tell you a little about him. 

Uncle Ted passed away after a 14-year battle with cancer. He was told 14 years ago that he had no more than 4 years to live, but he squeezed in an extra 10. During those 10 years, he got to live a lot of life, even as he constantly battled illness. Probably more meaningfully to him, during those 10 years, he got to watch his kids grow up and thrive into adulthood and spend quality time with his grandkids. 

His fight with cancer was long and challenging, with lots of ups and downs, and by the end of his 10 years on borrowed time, he was in a decent amount of pain. He’d outrun death as long as he could. Uncle Ted passed away peacefully, surrounded by people he loved.

While my uncle’s passing is a huge loss to our family and the community, it’s not a tragedy. That man didn’t squander a day on this planet. As the dozens of stories of his impact (some of which are posted here) and overflowing church pews during his service illustrate, he touched many people’s lives in ways that will stay with them. That includes me. 

I have only known this world with my Uncle Ted in it. Having married into my big crazy family many years before I was born, Uncle Ted brought balance and peace to pretty much any room he entered. He provided a stabilizing, positive force to a family with a more… let’s say, “confrontational communication style.” His presence had always been important to keeping the peace, but his more level-headed, empathetic approach to disagreements also rubbed off a little bit on everyone.

Before joining our family, Uncle Ted had been in the seminary, on track to become a Catholic priest. But he met my aunt and decided to have a family instead. He still maintained the spirit of a religious leader for the rest of his life. And I mean a good, sincere religious leader. The type that offers wisdom and forgiveness. The type that gently makes you confront hard truths and offers guidance on how to move past difficult moments. He was a big, important part of my childhood and my life. 

Even as expected as his passing was, you can only emotionally prepare so much. His absence will be felt just as much as his presence was. As I think about all the time I’ve spent with him, I’ve got quite a few memories to choose from. Yet one memory keeps floating to the top of my mind nearly every time I think about his presence in my life, and it took me a while to figure out why. 

It was a small moment that I’m sure he didn’t remember, but had been formative enough to me that my mind kept returning to it. It’s not a story that makes me look great, but it shows the depth of character my uncle had and how he held people accountable – gently. 

The details are blurry but the gist was this: I was in elementary school, I forget exactly how old. I called one of my siblings/cousins (I forget which, it doesn’t matter) a name. I jokingly called him “retarded” in front of Uncle Ted. (This is a word no longer in my vocabulary, for the record. But I’ll print it once, to re-live the discomfort for a moment.)

It would be easy, dear reader, for me to wave away the judging eyes at this point in the story. It’d be easy for me to explain that the R-word was much more commonly used back then – that it was thrown around in the 90s as casually as words like “idiot” or “moron” – words with equally problematic histories but that have stayed in the “casual insult” lexicon. And it would be easy for me to tell folks to “lighten up; it’s just a word. I was young!” And technically, that’s all true. But I won’t do that. I’ll take responsibility because my Uncle Ted taught me better. I said a word that I shouldn’t have said. The fact that it was more “socially acceptable” to use that term in those years just made what my uncle did next all the more remarkable.

Uncle Ted worked with people with developmental disabilities. He knew that, like everyone else, people with disabilities deserved dignity. That mattered to him. So, no matter how commonplace the R-word had become, you were never going to hear it come out of his mouth, ever. That would require a level of inconsideration that he did not possess.

That day, when I said the R-word, my Uncle Ted pulled me aside. I was young enough that while we were talking, he was having me punch his hands like I was practicing boxing, and he was absorbing my punches with all the strain of casually catching a baseball tossed his way. 

He asked me, away from the others, “Why did you call him that word?” 

Me, punching his hands: “I dunno, it was funny.” 

He asked sincerely, “Why is it funny?” 

And, of course, I didn’t have a good answer because there wasn’t one, at least not one that didn’t make me sound like an even bigger jerk. 

He went on to explain that the R-word hurts people, and when you use that word, you’re not just making fun of the person you’re hurling it at; you’re making fun of every person with a developmental disability, too. And you shouldn’t want to hurt people because hurting people is bad. And you especially don’t want to hurt people already subjected to so much other hurt and many other life challenges. It’s unkind. And we should never be unkind.

No reprimand, no public shaming. Just a brief moment of forced self-reflection. 

I said “ok” and went back to playing. 

That’s it; that’s the whole memory. I chuckle a little bit retelling this, because I’m sure that on his end, it was all an incredibly unrewarding conversation. He probably wasn’t even sure that I had absorbed what he said before going back to playing. But I heard him loud and clear. And nearly 30 years later, it’s one of my core memories of him.

I think the reason I always come back to that memory is because I admire him so much for it. He could have told me I was in trouble, chewed me out, put me in a time-out, yada yada. And then I would likely have gained nothing but a false sense of persecution. He could have pretended not to hear me and gone about his day, avoiding the issue altogether. He could have laughed along with me and reinforced that it was, in fact, as funny as I thought it was. I would have said that hurtful word twice as confidently next time around.  

If Uncle Ted had chosen any of those other options that day, I’d be a worse person for it. I’m a better version of myself because he took 5 minutes to patiently make me think about a harmful thing that I said and reminded me to be good to others. That’s it. That short conversation was a forever-remembered lesson in my childhood. 

I can’t say that I never said that word again because, of course, I did. After all, I was still just a little punk of a kid living in the 90s. But I never said it guiltlessly again. I never said it without feeling a pang of shame afterward. The pang didn’t come from someone chastising me in real-time or fear of social consequences. It came from the little voice in my head that said, "Remember when Uncle Ted told you that this word hurts people? We don’t like hurting people.” 

I hate that pang of shame. I’m willing to go to great lengths to avoid it. It wasn’t long before I chose less hurtful words to avoid that feeling. It was almost a selfish decision to choose the words that made it easier for me to get a restful night’s sleep. But it also meant that fewer people were hurt, and that mattered to me, too, because it mattered to the people who raised me, including and especially Uncle Ted.

Everyone hates the pang of shame we feel when we know we’ve done something immoral, however you define it. Everyone works to avoid that feeling. But it’s how you avoid it that matters. 

The easy way to rid yourself of the pang of shame is to rid yourself of the ability to feel shame altogether. The easy thing to do is to a) give up on caring about other people entirely or b) train your brain to regularly do mental gymnastics to justify all your bad behavior and cruel words. Anyone can invent logic to avoid accountability if they try hard enough. You can avoid all feelings of shame forever if your default setting is, “if you think about it from my perspective, I was perfectly justified to do it,” no matter the situation. 

We’ve got a lot of that going around. There’s even an incentive structure encouraging it. The “I was justified because it benefits me” viewpoint is central to the ethos of for-profit corporations that loot, pollute, and exploit communities. It’s a central tenet of our economic system, where rich people get richer while more and more people languish in poverty and/or get actively poisoned by their contaminated food or water or air. There are actual economic rewards and tangible benefits to screwing people over. No wonder we are trending the wrong way.

Shamelessness is a belief system, and at the moment, it’s the predominant belief system. 

The winner-takes-all mindset, the race to consolidate the entire world’s wealth into the pockets of a handful of Divorced Dads with a Vendetta, the glory that our society wraps around the greediest people on this planet: all of these elements are counterproductive to our survival as a species. And at this point, with a worldwide climate crisis, I’m not even being hyperbolic. That selfish mindset will literally kill us, but not before robbing us of all the joy that this planet has to offer by making everyone insufferable to be around.

The hard way – but, I would argue, the better way – to avoid shame is to confront the consequences of your own choices. The more difficult but more rewarding path to avoiding the pang of shame is to see a bad decision as an opportunity for growth. Take it as an opportunity to reflect, even if just for a moment. Start listening to that feeling of shame when your actions harm others, and then actually adjust your behavior moving forward.

Toxic individualism in a world that relies on interconnectedness is a recipe for self-destruction. We all rely on each other for survival, whether or not we are willing to admit it. I look around my living room as I type this, thinking about the computer in my lap, clothes on my back, rug on the floor… and thinking about the raw materials and labor from several continents that were required to produce each piece of my room decor. I think about my coffee with beans from South America and my spices from across the globe. I think about all the land and water and machinery and labor that were used to provide me with the ingredients for my next meal. 

None of us – not a single person on this planet – survives on our own. Rather than pretend that’s not true and destroy each other, we’d be wise to start learning how to coexist peacefully. That may start with (and I can’t believe I’m saying this) looking to Jesus. And if you can’t look to Jesus, if that’s just not your thing, then trust me, I get it.

In that case, I suggest looking to my Uncle Ted.

We define the spirit of our own community with every single choice we make, no matter how small. If you believe the world is cruel and you act with cruelty, you are fulfilling your own prophecy. But it works the other way, too. If you want to live in a world full of generous, kind people? Well, I’ve got some news for you, buddy. You need to start with yourself.  My Uncle Ted built the world he wanted to live in through his actions, big and small, every single day. 

When facing big challenges moving forward – be it a pandemic or a war or a financial crisis or natural disaster or even the threat of fascism – we need to work together to save ourselves.

Perhaps we should start by getting along a little better. 

And let me be clear about what I am not suggesting. I am not saying, “Let’s brush our differences under the rug, forgive, and forget.” That dismissal without reflection lets too many people get away with their poor behavior. 

Moving forward starts with everyone owning our own shit. Take responsibility for the words we’ve used, the actions we’ve taken. Say your piece, but listen as well. Apologize, but then forgive, too. Hold people accountable, but admit where you went wrong, too. The only thing anyone can control is how they choose to react to the situation at hand, and a lot of us need to start reacting differently.

Uncle Ted’s Catholic faith played a big role in shaping his view of the world and his moral character. He took the stories and teachings of Jesus seriously. Loving thy neighbor, welcoming strangers, sharing with others, listening without judgment: he emulated all of that perpetually. His religion guided him towards a generous, meaningful life.

Meanwhile, for me, well… this week was the first time that I had sat through a whole mass in who-knows-how-long, and to be honest, my Uncle Ted is one of about 5 people who could get me to pledge not to roll my eyes a single time during a whole mass, no matter what. That promise turned out to be very easy to keep, for the record, given that Uncle Ted’s brother, Father Gary, was the Priest who led the mass. There wasn’t a single drop of insincerity in Father Gary’s sermon. Far from rolling my eyes, I hung on his every word, listening to him share what my Uncle Ted meant to his brother.

In adulthood, I reflect on how I landed on my own moral code despite not being religious. I was never convinced to be good to others because I wanted a ticket into heaven. Instead, for me, it was watching people like my Uncle Ted move through the world. He lived by the simple principle that other people being harmed is bad. He insisted that other people’s hardships should matter to you, simply because you’re a fellow human being. Whether or not you're religious, it costs no portion of your soul to be kind and generous to others. Quite the opposite, being good to others can transform a pang of shame into a feeling of contentment. It’s a much better feeling, I promise.

Do Catholic and Christian kids still get asked at church, What Would Jesus Do? Is “WWJD” still a phrase used with frequency? Are the wristbands still passed out like candy? I don’t even know. That’s one line from our Sunday School that I actually liked, if you can believe it. I liked it because the point of that question was to contemplate what a more generous, kind, and forgiving person than yourself would do in any given situation. It reminded us (in theory, anyway) that Jesus always picked forgiveness and compassion over hate and selfishness. 

I think the phrase “what would Jesus do” has fallen out of fashion. Which, to be honest, doesn’t surprise me. I would suspect that’s because the answer to that question might make the “religious elite” quite uncomfortable these days. They’d perhaps more frequently have to reckon with the fact that Jesus was ardently against pursuing one’s own financial wealth and power at the expense of others. Very explicitly and repeatedly, he affirmed that to be wealthy when the world is still in poverty is sinful. Sinful! Billionaire Christian Nationalists seem to keep skipping those passages about the sins of wealth and greed for some reason.

It’s people like my Uncle Ted, on the other hand, who actually answered the question, “What would Jesus do?” honestly. In fact, I’m pretty sure Uncle Ted stole much of his life playbook from Jesus Christ himself. That’s why he opened his home and offered support to others wherever he could. It’s why he helped refugee families from Somalia acclimate to Northeast Ohio, helping them learn English and keep up with simple life things, like yard work. It’s why he took in the stray animals that continued to mysteriously, literally show up on his front porch. It’s why you’ll hear hundreds of stories of him doing a small favor for a friend or neighbor. It’s why you won’t hear stories of him saying cruel things or screwing people over. Who wouldn’t want to strive for such a legacy?

As we enter the holiday season, I hope you all cherish each other, and take hold of joy and optimism wherever you can find it. Hug your loved ones tightly. And when relationships don’t feel so neat and tidy, and you have an opportunity to call out, call in, or ignore bigotry, take a brief moment of forced self-reflection.

Contemplate: What Would Uncle Ted Do? 

Uncle Ted taught me to consider others more often. He taught me to rid myself of shame not by desensitizing myself to it, but by making up for it with kindness. He taught me that to decide to be the best version of yourself is to decide against taking the cheap shot just because you can.

The timing of his passing feels a little like his final lesson to the world. While politicians spout cruelty and push through ridiculous, hateful legislation, it can be hard to feel anything but cynicism. I can only speak for myself, but staying patient and hopeful these last few weeks has been challenging to say the least. 

But then, this past Tuesday, while the rest of my profession was bickering in legislative hearing rooms, I was at church for the first time in a long time, thinking about one of the most generous people I’ve ever known. And right as I had been feeling myself losing patience with the cruelty of the world, right as I could feel myself veering towards wanting vengeance rather than justice, I heard that voice in the back of my head, "Remember what Uncle Ted told you? You shouldn’t want to hurt people, because hurting people is bad.” 

Sometimes I hate when you’re right, Uncle Ted.

I debated about whether publishing this was right – whether it was appropriate to insert his memory into my day job. But I think Uncle Ted would like it. He and my Aunt were a couple of my first and most ardent supporters when I went out on a limb to form this organization. He wasn’t shy about giving a sermon when the moment called for it. And boy, does the moment call for it. I think he’d understand why I feel compelled to share the lessons he taught me. And I think that the more people follow the footsteps of people like Uncle Ted, the better the world will be. 

So rather than draft an essay about the horrifying shenanigans of all of the many, many bad leaders in Ohio’s legislature, this time, I decided to share the story of a good leader out here in the real world. Maybe we all need to spend a little more time telling those stories, too.

So pour one out for my Uncle Ted, the type of leader that our communities need now more than ever.