GETTING NO RESPECT!

Recently I found a childhood friend of mine from Brooklyn, who I was searching for, for years. Turns out he was right under my nose, but I would never have known!

His name is Mike, and he lived next door to me. He related to me a story about himself recently that I would like to share. It occurred as a child, and you can reference an old blogue: Monday, May 08, 2006. In it I wrote:

“One day my friends and I decided to raid the produce stand so we could play sword fighting. Sloppy John had crates and bushels he would discard along a wall in front of his store. The tops of the bushels were round which made for great shields, and the crates provided us with our swords. When we raided, we realized there were no crates on the sidewall, but were all stacked inside the store. We ran into the store, grabbed what we could, and continued to run out the store. Well old Sloppy John, comes out after us with a broom in his hand, and throws it like a spear, and as I’m running by the scale, the broom flies through the scale! Seeing that he was such a great spear thrower, we decided to test him again, ran by the second time as we usually did, and Sloppy John was waiting for us! As we flew by like wild Indians, out comes this big old Irish setter; that begins to chase us down the block and around the corner. Never owning a dog, we all were scared silly, and headed for our stoops and hallways. Unfortunately for me, I trip on the sidewalk, and the dog catches up to me. On my back, pinned to the ground by his front paws, tears streaming down my face, thinking I’m going to be eaten alive, the dog is licking my face!
Then just like that, the animal just sprints away, and my sword fighting days were over.”

“Giovan a vadende” is as close to the dialect I can go to describe how we referred to the owner of a certain vegetable stand around the corner from us. He was a crotchety Old Italian who worked very hard to support himself and his family. The vegetable stand was always a mess, but the veggies and fruit were always fresh. The neighborhood all referred to him as: “Giovan a vadende” (a form of sloppy John which does not translate well because of the dialects that butcher the language). As children, this disrespect for the man went un-noticed, and taken as truth! That was who our parents said he was, we believed our parents, and they always referred to him a Giovan a Vadende.

One day Mike was sent to the vegetable stand by his mother: for a head of lettuce. Walking into the store, he approaches the old man and pronounces: “Mr. Vadende, I need a head of lettuce!”

The old man looks at him in a simmering rage and then explodes, sending Mike through the doors at the speed of light!