Dad was not a religious soul, just a good one. His life was uncomplicated and when I think about it, easy to live in a way that may be difficult to explain. We were not a rich family, working hard for what he had he appreciated it and loved his family. He boiled it down to a simple equation: live and love. He gave so much to others from so little and everyone he knew loved him. He was my Dad.
Dad came from a very religious upbringing due to his mom, my grandmother, grandma Frances or as she was known: Zia Francesca by the neighborhood Italians and family. Grandma was a hard-working businesswoman who spoke very little English and had the smarts of the best CEOs of the time. Charitable and always moving, be it cooking or raising money for Our Lady of Loreto on Sackman Street in Brooklyn, NY, and doing it since the Great Depression!
At the tender age of four, Dad got a hold of me and decided to teach me my prayers and in particular the Our Father. Being how it aggravated my grandmother that Dad and his younger brother my uncle Joe never went to church it was their way of rebelling against grandma’s devotion. His words stayed with me for about the time I was a teenager. They were NOT all the right words and Mom when she finally heard them in church one Sunday blew a gasket. Of course, Dad was not around since he was still in bed.
OUR FATHER, WHO ART IN HEAVEN
HAROLD, BE THY NAME.
THY KINGDOM COME, THY WILL BE DONE
ON EARTH, AS IT IS IN HEAVEN
GIVE US A STEAK AND OUR DAILY BREAD
AND FORGIVE US OUR TRESPASSES
AS WE FORGIVE that WHO TRESPASS… etc.
Mostly beautiful words but not all God’s!
For years when I heard the name Harold I envisioned some holy yet ghostly apparition that hovered in front of me sitting in some fog or cloud. When I said the prayer correctly years later, I chuckled as I said ‘Goodbye’ to Harold.
Mom, of course, had her hands full with my father and his offspring, YOU KNOW WHO. Being religious herself, (she watched the Mass on TV the day she died in her deathbed) Mom was very particular about our attitudes toward God and honesty. She also had a thing about polished shoes but that is another story for another time.
Mom maintained her strict discipline with the finely tuned use of guilt and a wooden spoon. She had a philosophy that rivaled Teddy Roosevelt’s “Speak softly and carry a big stick!” It was “BECAUSE I SAID SO!”
“BECAUSE I SAID SO!” would stay with me as I write this and remember her love and science of raising an incorrigible son. I like to think she developed her technique just for me! “BECAUSE I SAID SO!” was final, there was no argument or discussion, and the only words needed to retreat from my losses was to keep my mouth shut. “BECAUSE I SAID SO!” was also solidly backed by her weapon of bodily destruction, usually oak or pine and reached deep into the pasta pot or my head, stirring both with equal efficiency.
‘WAIT TILL YOUR FATHER GETS HOME!” was the usual threat. I would shake and fear would take over as Dad would be the disciplinarian and did you ever see HIM get mad.
“DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOUR SION DID TODAY?” Dad had me on his own no mother needed in this creation.
“No, what did YOUR son do this time?” No one would take credit.
If I had a need to do something and wanted money, I NEVER went to Mom. Always Dad. If there was something I wanted to do, I asked Mom, she said no, then I would ask Dad and he would say: “Go ask your mother.” Obviously, there was very little I did.
Dad came from a very religious upbringing due to his mom, my grandmother, grandma Frances or as she was known: Zia Francesca by the neighborhood Italians and family. Grandma was a hard-working businesswoman who spoke very little English and had the smarts of the best CEOs of the time. Charitable and always moving, be it cooking or raising money for Our Lady of Loreto on Sackman Street in Brooklyn, NY, and doing it since the Great Depression!
OUR FATHER, WHO ART IN HEAVEN
HAROLD, BE THY NAME.
THY KINGDOM COME, THY WILL BE DONE
ON EARTH, AS IT IS IN HEAVEN
GIVE US A STEAK AND OUR DAILY BREAD
AND FORGIVE US OUR TRESPASSES
AS WE FORGIVE that WHO TRESPASS… etc.
Mostly beautiful words but not all God’s!
For years when I heard the name Harold I envisioned some holy yet ghostly apparition that hovered in front of me sitting in some fog or cloud. When I said the prayer correctly years later, I chuckled as I said ‘Goodbye’ to Harold.
Mom, of course, had her hands full with my father and his offspring, YOU KNOW WHO. Being religious herself, (she watched the Mass on TV the day she died in her deathbed) Mom was very particular about our attitudes toward God and honesty. She also had a thing about polished shoes but that is another story for another time.
Mom maintained her strict discipline with the finely tuned use of guilt and a wooden spoon. She had a philosophy that rivaled Teddy Roosevelt’s “Speak softly and carry a big stick!” It was “BECAUSE I SAID SO!”
“BECAUSE I SAID SO!” would stay with me as I write this and remember her love and science of raising an incorrigible son. I like to think she developed her technique just for me! “BECAUSE I SAID SO!” was final, there was no argument or discussion, and the only words needed to retreat from my losses was to keep my mouth shut. “BECAUSE I SAID SO!” was also solidly backed by her weapon of bodily destruction, usually oak or pine and reached deep into the pasta pot or my head, stirring both with equal efficiency.
‘WAIT TILL YOUR FATHER GETS HOME!” was the usual threat. I would shake and fear would take over as Dad would be the disciplinarian and did you ever see HIM get mad.
“DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOUR SION DID TODAY?” Dad had me on his own no mother needed in this creation.
“No, what did YOUR son do this time?” No one would take credit.
If I had a need to do something and wanted money, I NEVER went to Mom. Always Dad. If there was something I wanted to do, I asked Mom, she said no, then I would ask Dad and he would say: “Go ask your mother.” Obviously, there was very little I did.
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