At St. Peter's Catholic Church, they
have weekly husbands' marriage seminars.
At the session last week, the priest
asked Giuseppe, who said he was approaching his 50th wedding anniversary, to
take a few minutes and share some insight into how he had managed to stay
married to the same woman all these years.
Giuseppe replied to the assembled
husbands, 'Wella, I'va tried to treat her nicea, spenda da money on her, but
besta all is, I tooka her to Italy for the 25th anniversary!'
The priest responded, 'Giuseppe, you
are an amazing inspiration to all the husbands here! Please tell us what you
are planning for your wife for your 50th anniversary?
Giuseppe proudly replied, "I gonna
go picka her up."
Life goes on for a reason: mainly we take care not to take
risks that would take us out altogether.
It was the Saturday after Thanksgiving, and I was a young
man who just completed my college years and was feeling good. I owned a brand
new Camaro and had money to burn, my new job as a designer in New York City was
taking off well and my future was ahead of me. There was nothing bothering me.
Grandma on the other hand felt otherwise as we shall see.
Her vision was I was going nowhere, my future was behind me, and I would
eventually turn into a bum. She had the cure: I should get married.
So that Saturday I drove Grandma home to Brooklyn, to her
little nest that was Centrale della famiglia (Family Central.) I was anxious to
get back to Long Island, but Grandma was not anxious for me to leave, as the
late morning dragged into early afternoon. As hard as I might try to leave, she
would paint guilt on my soul and ask if I was in a hurry to leave her. (I was,
there was a young woman I wanted to pick up for a visit to the city and
|Life was good!|
Finally at around 1:15 or so Grandma’s doorbell rings, and a
big smile crosses her face, rising from her chair she races to the front door
and opens it. There standing in the threshold are two ladies. The same shape and appearance, both
dressed in black and a bun for a hairdo. What I was facing was a tag team of
mother and daughter!
“A JoJo, disa here isa my frenda Carmela and dis a
Filonmena, a nicea goil.”
The mole on Filomena cheek with the little hairs growing out
told me she could cook, but I wasn’t looking for a cook with a hairy mole.
“Nice to meet you” (Or some lie like that) “Grandma, I need
to move the car or I’ll get a ticket.”
“You a movea da car, no teeket.”
To the day she died she wondered why I moved the car to my
house on Long Island.
Dad got a hold of me and asked: “Your grandmother called,
wondering what happened to you.”
“Dad, she had a hairy mold and out weighted me.”
Dad replied: “I’ll talk to her.”