Tuesday, October 22, 2019

GROWING UP IN AN ITALIAN HOUSEHOLD…

And living to tell about it.

Mom had some rules, maybe not rules so much as warnings of impending death if I did not follow her edicts. Growing up was dependant upon me being able to translate into my little mind what she expected from me. Lord Tennyson’s “Ours is not to reason why, Ours is but to do or die” became my mantra, or so Mom hoped.

Those of you who never knew mom never knew her rules, and those of you who did, never knew her rules either. When I was born the hospital staff gave her a book with lined pages to establish her ability to manage her son for his lifetime.

“Be home before dinner time or else you don’t eat!”

“If I find out your teacher had to discipline you, when you get home you will get the rest!”

“What am I related to the electric company? CLOSE ALL THOSE LIGHTS!”

“STOP teasing your sister!”

“ whole pound of butter on a small piece of toast!”

And so the rules kept building, as I grew older and bolder. It seems that the rules she imposed, the more I wanted to break them.

Then there was the button incident, of course from my own doing. It seems I love white powdered donuts. In fact I had a passion for them. I discovered the local grocery store was selling these little six-pack donuts for a nickel, and I wanted some. But where do I get a few nickels? Mom and pop were poor that made me poor, although I didn’t know it. When I was a kid growing up in Brooklyn, we were so poor we couldn't even afford to pay attention! Makes you want to send me money, huh?

Then it struck me one Sunday morning as Mom was getting us ready for Church. Mom instructed me to ask Dad for some money for me to put in the collection baskets. There were two collections so I needed money for both.

I wake up Dad and tell him: Mommy said, give me some money for church.” (I didn’t have to say please when Mom ordered it) Slowly he opens his eyes and rolls over and grabs his pants from the side of the bed, reaches in and gives me 2 shiny nickels.

As I head toward the kitchen from the bedroom, I pass Mom’s sewing basket, and an idea hits me. For a nickel I could buy a bottle of Pepsi, and for another nickel I could buy a package of 5 or 6 small powdered donuts. I given powdered donuts, you could get me to do anything, say anything or lie about anything! Yes, powdered donuts were my addiction!

So quietly I go into Moms sewing bow where she kept her buttons and reasoned that if I took 2 shiny metal buttons, I could confuse Mom when they came to collect money, then afterward, I could celebrate with a Pepsi and donuts! I couldn’t believe my genius had taken me so far!

Our Lady of Lourdes was a beautiful church, with marble floors and columns, stain windows and a large dome that sat over the front altar. There were three additional altars with the one in the back having La Pieta inside a gated enclosure.

Being a large church, with a school, and about 5 priests, the ushers always dressed to the nines, and when collecting, had these long handles collection baskets made of what looked like wicker.

Mom and I sat, she in deep meditation and prayer, and me deep into whether or not I could scale the grotto wall behind the main altar. Suddenly I noticed the ushers with the collection baskets and reached for my first button. As the basket slid under my nose, I slipped in the first of the shiny buttons. Mom deposited her money and went back into her prayers (probably for my soul) and said nothing. Ah, I rouse was working!!! Donuts for sure!

The second collection comes, and like the first, I slip in the other shiny metal button, Mom deposits her money, and once again goes into deep pray-filled pleading for my wicked soul. Oh! The joy of deep quiet celebration, knowing there were donuts soon on the horizon, glory is to God!

Mass is over and as we walk home I start to talk to Mom, but she is not answering me. I figured her mother instincts for survival have kicked in. This goes on for a few blocks, nothing being said by Mom. We climb the two flights of steps to our third floor apartment, when I announce to Mom that I am going down stairs for a while. (Donuts on my mind)

Suddenly, I feel this grip on my shoulder and the words: “Embarrass me in church?” Whack, dragging me into the apartment. “Hoe dare you embarrass me in church of all places?” Whack, whack and whack. If nothing else at this critical moment, she was certainly hitting the target!

This went on all the rest of Sunday morning, every time she saw me, “Embarrass me in church?” Whack, and more whacks. Dad kept a low profile; he didn’t want to get in the way of her fury, no need to interrupt. That whole morning and early afternoon, I started to pray myself for preservation and rescue, hoping for company to show up immediately, if not sooner.

Relief finally arrived when Aunt Philomena and Uncle Dominick arrived, with customary cheesecake and appetite.

Church was a particularly fun place for me, both as a worshipper and as an altar boy. There was a very hoity-toity lady who would come to church every Sunday with her husband. He was a lawyer, and looked boring, and she was a short, heavy-set woman in her 60’s, with a well coiffed hairdo and a mink stole with long drooping earrings and who carried herself like she was the queen mum. One Sunday we miscalculated the seating, as Mom mistakenly took a pew where this woman sat that bore her name on the end of the pew on a nameplate. There we were, Mom, her four daughters and myself. I was a teenager at the time as we waited for the service to start. Who arrives but her ladyship, the queen mum, sees us sitting in her pew (It really wasn’t her pew) and she gives us a dirty look. How dear us sit in her pew, after all, that should remain empty all day Sunday unless she showed up.
It just so happens as she is sitting among the unwashed she places herself in front of me in the pew ahead of us. But someone else comes along to attend services! A spider suddenly appears along the backrest of her pew in front of me. My sisters are watching, and so I take the spider, a daddy long legs and carefully place it in the old girls hair, where it buries itself deep inside her sprayed do, to the hysterical amusement of the four girls! Mom, being a pious woman, who should have known better, was not paying attention, (I think she was distracted with praying) suddenly looks at me and gives me the second dirty look of the morning in that church!
All through the Mass, the spider made an appearance in and out of the nest of silver hair, and the girls would try as they might, stifle their laughter, as I would guide the spider back into the deep recesses of Lady Clairol miracle maker.
After the Mass, Dad, who never went to church: picked us up and we all got into the car. Mom asks what was going on in church, and my sisters relate the whole incident, laughing as they do. What saved me was Dad, who started to laugh uncontrollably, making Mom laugh too.

No comments: