For James and Paul, and other Generation X

I Dreamed of Paul Lynde

Yes this is banal, but I couldn't think of many other places to post 
where it'd get a scintilla of appreciation.

He was an uncle, the ninth child my family never talked about (there was 
an eighth child never spoken of irl, not gay afaik, severely mentally 
disabled and sent to a sanatorium). He wasn't Uncle Arthur, didn't do 
magic tricks, he was Uncle Paul. And yes he was wearing his white 
caftan!

He lived in a tall apartment building, had a small suite. In the dream 
my brother and I were about 8 and 10 years of age respectively. He said 
he'd had next to no experience watching kids before. I wasn't bothered, 
I figured there'd be some television to watch or some books to read. I'm 
not high maintenance when it comes to entertainment. He said "I don't even 
know what to feed you. Hope you're okay with these," and he pulled out two 
cans of Chef Boy-ar-dee Ravioli.

It was wonderfully Seventies, he talked like he did on Hollywood Squares 
("that's dis-GUS-ting!") and yet the sense we were a burden on him for a 
few hours, it wasn't our fault but our mom's, was keen. Every now and 
then I peered over to the outdoor deck with the railing, noting how high 
up we were and that I would not say or do anything to tempt Uncle Paul 
to toss me over. I had hoped he would be funnier, but he was sober and 
he probably wasn't paid to babysit us.