(A Keep Up With Nate tribute to Charles Harry Strickland Jr.)
Some people leave behind a loud legacy.
Uncle Harry didn’t.
His legacy wasn’t built with noise, drama, or attention.
It was built the way the strongest legacies usually are:
quietly.
faithfully.
brilliantly.
His name was Charles Harry Strickland Jr., but everybody knew him as Harry — and he passed away on February 27, 2024, at the age of 67.
And I’ve been sitting with that for a long time.
Because even though it’s been a while now, I’ve learned something about grief:
It doesn’t disappear.
It just changes shape.
Sometimes it looks like silence.
Sometimes it looks like a random memory that hits you in the chest while you’re driving.
Sometimes it looks like you standing at a lake — thinking about a man who didn’t say a lot, but somehow still said everything.
This blog is for him.
He Wasn’t the “Center of the Room” Type
If you knew Uncle Harry, you know what I mean.
He wasn’t the loud uncle.
He wasn’t the “big storyteller.”
He wasn’t the one cracking jokes for the whole table.
He was… often alone.
And I want to be honest about that — because this isn’t one of those fake-perfect tribute posts where we act like everybody was always close and everything was always easy.
We weren’t always tight.
Not because of bad blood.
But because Uncle Harry lived in a way that didn’t require a crowd.
He was content.
He was private.
He was steady.
And I’ve grown to respect that more as I’ve gotten older.
The Wife, The Legend, The “How Do You Do?”
Now… let’s talk about something that made Uncle Harry Uncle Harry.
He didn’t have kids.
Didn’t have a wife in his later years.
But yes, Uncle Harry was married one time — to a lady named Jimmie Sue.
And I’m sorry, I have to say it:
That name belongs in a country song.
It just does.
Jimmie Sue.
How do you do?
Things didn’t work out as planned — and I say that with love and no judgment. No harm, no foul. Life happens.
Uncle Harry didn’t become bitter.
He didn’t become dramatic.
He didn’t turn life into a sob story.
He just kept going.
And he stayed faithful to the calling God gave him:
education.
A Real Educator. A Rare Mind.
Uncle Harry was the kind of smart that didn’t need validation.
He graduated from the University of Georgia, earned his degree in Education, and later continued his studies at the University of North Georgia, earning his Masters and Specialist degrees in Health/PE and Administration.
But to me, his education wasn’t the headline.
The headline was his brain.
Uncle Harry was a genius.
Not “good at trivia” smart.
I mean advanced smart.
AP Physics. Advanced Trig.
The kind of stuff most people don’t even want to pronounce, much less teach.
And he didn’t teach because he needed a job.
He taught because he genuinely cared about students — and he lived out the kind of impact that happens when somebody pours their life into young people.
He coached too:
- assistant basketball coach
- assistant football coach
- head tennis coach
And he was named Teacher of the Year multiple times.
That tells you everything.
The Convertible, Blockbuster, and Cast Away
I’ve got a lot of memories with family.
But there’s one with Uncle Harry that stands above the rest.
When my mom’s dad passed away, I was hurting.
Not a little hurting.
I mean that deep kind of loss that makes a kid confused, quiet, angry, sad — all at once.
And Uncle Harry did something that meant more than he probably ever realized:
He picked me up in his convertible.
That alone felt like a movie moment.
Then he took me to Blockbuster, and we rented Cast Away.
And we watched it.
And I stayed the night with him.
He didn’t preach at me.
He didn’t over-talk my pain.
He just…
showed up.
I’ll never forget that.
That was his love language.
Presence.
Steadiness.
Simple kindness.
Later in Life: Stocks, Wisdom, and Quiet Progress
As time went on, Uncle Harry started making wise moves financially.
And honestly?
That part of his story fits him perfectly.
He wasn’t flashy — but he was smart.
He wasn’t loud — but he was disciplined.
He invested.
He built stability.
He left something behind.
And I want to say this plainly:
Our family is blessed because of him.
We love your house in North Myrtle Beach.
Not because it’s a “thing.”
But because it’s a piece of you.
A reminder of what a steady life can build.
Something lasting.
The Moment He Called Me a Genius
There’s something else I need to write — something that still hits me.
Right before he passed away, Uncle Harry visited my parents while they were living in Calhoun, Georgia.
And he looked at me and called me…
a genius.
That one word meant the world to me.
Because if anybody knew what intelligence really looked like — it was him.
He wasn’t the kind of man who threw compliments around.
So when he said that to me, it landed differently.
It wasn’t just “good job.”
It was like receiving approval from someone I truly admired.
And I’ve carried that with me.
I still do.
We Fought a Battle Together: VA Benefits
Uncle Harry wasn’t only intelligent in academics.
He was intelligent in life.
One of the most meaningful things we did together was working on getting my grandfather — Uncle Harry’s dad, my grandfather — his VA benefits during his time at a senior living center.
The cost of medical care and senior living can crush a family.
And we were staring at something overwhelming.
But VA benefits could cover almost everything — and I wasn’t going to let my family drown financially if there was a path forward.
So Uncle Harry and I worked on it together.
- He helped guide the process
- I handled the paperwork writing
- I worked with the VA office
- We did forms, signatures, coordination — all of it
That wasn’t just logistics.
That was family teamwork.
That was love expressed in a different way:
protecting our people.
Mallard Lake & The Peace That Remains
Even now, I think about him when I’m out on the water.
I love kayaking on Mallard Lake — it slows me down.
And sometimes I believe places hold memories.
That lake holds mine.
When the paddle hits the water and the world goes quiet, I can almost hear the kind of peace Uncle Harry lived with.
Not the peace that comes from having everything.
But the peace that comes from being grounded, faithful, and humble.
Rest in Peace, Uncle Harry
Uncle Harry…
You didn’t have to be loud to be legendary.
You didn’t have to have a huge family to leave something behind.
You were a teacher.
A coach.
An investor.
A faithful man.
A brilliant mind.
A caring uncle.
And you were part of the fabric of our family — whether everyone always recognized it or not.
You are missed.
Thank you for the memories.
Thank you for your wisdom.
Thank you for your house, your legacy, and your example.
Thank you for showing up when I was hurting.
And thank you for calling me a genius — because that meant more coming from you than it could’ve coming from anyone else.
RIP Uncle Harry.
We love you.