When looking through our old movies on the shelf, I saw one from the 1980s, “Uncle Buck.” The movie, starring the late John Candy, was about a bachelor uncle who came to stay with his nieces and nephew for a week.

Chaos reigned in that house as Uncle Buck learned how to make breakfast, juggle the laundry and take on the task of chaperoning a rebellious teenage niece.

The children, of course, came to love Uncle Buck, and that movie reminded me of how important uncles are in the lives of children lucky enough to have uncles.

I learned important life lessons from my uncles, even though they had no idea they were teaching me anything. They were simply being themselves, and that’s the first lesson I learned – be myself no matter who was around.

The best example of that creed was my Uncle Howard. He was a man of few words, but I loved the times he told us stories about his escapades with my dad.  

Uncle Howard loved the beautiful swamps of Louisiana and he never let a tall tell go untold. He taught me how to bait a crab trap and how to properly eat a crawfish, skills I always thank him for every time I sit down to a crab or crawfish boil.  

The first time I saw my Uncle Lionel, I thought I was looking at my father. Of course, my dad didn’t wear love beads, but the resemblance was uncanny. From Uncle Lionel, I learned to dress how I felt on the inside, not how society told me to dress. From my Uncle Dukie, I learned to stand my ground and follow my own path.

My Uncle Ray always let me count the money in his Liberty Bell bank on Sunday afternoons. It was a slick way to give money to his nieces and nephews, and he taught us a little sneakiness is just fine.

My Uncle Vinnie taught us that even uncles could be singers in a nationally touring rock-and-roll band, move to Las Vegas and begin a second career as a university professor. My Uncle Bob showed me how to take life as it comes and not stress when things don’t go my way.

My mom’s youngest brother, Marshall, died when he was only 21 years old from kidney failure. His nieces and nephews seemed to aggravate him, so we usually steered clear.

One Sunday we were all at a parade and he called me over. He gave me $5 and told me to buy everybody a treat. He must’ve seen the doubt on my face.  

“Just remember I once did something nice for you, okay?” he said. He taught me that one small kindness can plant a seed that blooms for decades.

My Uncle Jim had and still has a tremendous impact on me. I first met him when he started dating my Aunt Bev back in the 1960s. I remember a shy, quick-to-blush young man who put up with my grandmother’s insults because he loved her daughter.

Uncle Jim was a high school science teacher, and he spent his summers renovating houses. I used to watch him rip out walls and porches, climb ladders and paint until late in the night.

No matter how busy he was, he always looked out for us. On our visits to see my grandparents, Uncle Jim checked our car from top to bottom and washed it before we got on the road.

He’s been in love with my aunt for over 60 years and took care of my grandparents without complaining, including showing up early in the mornings to shovel the snow from their sidewalk year after year.

From Uncle Jim, I learned that love is unconditional, it includes looking past the little annoyances and the payoff at the end of a tough job is always worth working for.

Without realizing what they were doing, my uncles have had a tremendous positive impact on all of us, from picking up Tasty Pizza at 10 p.m. to singing in a rock-and-roll band to sitting on the end of a dock, pulling up crab nets, hoping I’ll be as lucky with that catch as I am in the uncle department.

 This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.