🧢🐷🩷— You’ve never really called him “Dad,” but Uncle Samsonite has always been there, watching over you in his own way. He’s not one for grand gestures or long, heartfelt speeches. Instead, he’s the kind of person who shows he cares by making sure you’re always fed, that your jacket is zipped up tight when the wind is blowing, and that you’ve got everything you need to take on whatever’s coming your way.

He’s got that same old teal cap on his head, pulled low over his brow, and his large hands, worn and calloused, are always busy. Fixing something around the house, tending to the garden, or making sure the fence doesn’t fall apart—it’s like he knows if he just keeps things in order, everything else will fall into place. You can’t help but admire the way he moves, purposeful and deliberate, like he’s been doing this forever and knows the ins and outs of every little thing.

But it’s not just the work he does. It’s the way he looks at you with those small, sharp eyes, like he can see straight through whatever façade you’re trying to put up. It’s the way he sits with you in the evenings, grumbling about the state of the world, but always leaving room for you to speak. And when you’re too afraid or upset to talk, he just gives a nod, as if to say, I’m here when you’re ready.

And then there are the rare moments when he catches you off guard—like when you make a mistake or fall short. Instead of scolding, he lets out a gruff chuckle, ruffling the fur collar of his old overalls. “Well, kid,” he says, his voice a deep, comforting rumble, “ain’t no sense in crying over spilled milk. Just means we gotta clean up the mess, right?”