Tag Archives: Dad

My Claim to Fame:

Since my grandma died about two weeks ago, I’ve been feeling nostalgic. I’ve had some rough nights thinking about her, but I try to make sure I’m remembering the positives. As I think about all of those great things we did together, I can’t help but remember other members of my family that have passed within the last decade; members of my family that did cool things; members I hope I never forget.

Most of my family never did anything amazing or ground breaking, hell, most of my dad’s side of the family is still across the Atlantic Ocean in the old country (Italy). However, there is one person in my family, my great aunt Helen, that not only lived over a century (she passed away at 102 I believe), but was also a part of something for the only two years of its existence and is my only real claim to fame.

She was the Queen of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in  1926 and 1927.

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 Now, don’t get me wrong. I love my family to pieces and to be honest, I could care less if they were “famous,” and that’s not because I know I won’t be unless I go on some crime spree and wind up in the papers. I like my simple existence and don’t need anything huge, even in my family’s past, to gratify a non-existent ego.

Anyway, when I think about the history of my family, where everyone came from, and all the things they did during a century that seemed to transcend what could happen in a century’s time, this is something I can proudly connect with. 

I remember being there for her 100th birthday party in Florida and on numerous other occasions. She remember everyone’s name, always sent birthday cards, and knew what everyone was doing. She loved everyone, and after 3 generations which followed, there was a lot of us.

She was the first generation born in the United States, making me the 4th generation, which from what I understand is a very long time for Jewish families in America.

The historian in me likes to better understand those roots and make sure I can tell the story to my grandkids one day. My dad’s side is much easier, as my grandpa and his brother came to the United Stats in the 1950s from Brazil and the Dominican Republic (respectfully) after leaving Italy when there mandatory military service was completed. They went to South America to avoid the low immigration quota that was placed on Italy after World War II, though I also know that many mobsters from southern Italy also went to South America to clear their names before coming to the United States, which is much more fun to tell people even if I have zero evidence my family was connected to that.

This nostalgia also helped re-kindle my idea to write about how social media and the internet will change how we are able to look at history. Not really sure where it’s going to go as of right now, but a friend of mine and myself will be slowly working on it in the near future (I hope). My grandma has a Facebook and Instagram, and though my Aunt Helen didn’t, I was able to find this New York Time article about her coming back to the parade as a guest of Macy’s.

It’s really cool looking back and it makes me proud to be who I am and where I came from, even if we’re just a regular family.

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August 8, 2013 · 11:20 am

Goodbye, Grandma

I don’t want to be cliche and annoying about something like this, but as a journal-type thing, I do want to use this as it was intended. I also want to make sure I get my feelings out somehow, well, in another way that isn’t sobbing.

My grandma passed away early Saturday morning and to be honest, it took me a second to process that. My girlfriend, Leah, woke me up after my mom had sent her a text message asking her to do just that. As I picked up my phone to call her, I saw that my grandma had liked a picture of mine on Instagram. Yeah, she was that cool.

As I unlocked my phone and called, I knew something was wrong, but having no real knowledge of my grandmother’s hospital visit a few days earlier, other than the fact that she was there, I didn’t know what went wrong with who.

When my mom told me that my grandma had passed away, she seemed broken. Naturally, I didn’t want to seem upset because I want to be there for her. I told her to call me back when she knew more and I hung up and crawled back in to bed. I snuggled up to Leah and just laid there for a few minutes.

Then it hit me.

I’ve been lucky enough to have all four grandparents around my whole life and the idea of not having any of them around is (still) unfathomable.

I had just sent her a text 2 days earlier and made plans to visit in New York City in 2 weeks when I go to Long Island for vacation.

I still have voice-mails, Facebook comments and messages, texts, and missed calls from her in my phone.

And as I sit here right now, and if I’m honest with myself, I don’t believe that she’s gone. It doesn’t make any sense. For as much as the media portrays death and that it’s seemingly all around us, on a personal level it seems everyone is very disconnected with the idea of it. When terrible things happen far away, like the Boston Marathon Bombing, you hear it on the news then walk right out of the house and it’s as if nothing happened. To me, it appears that we’re all desensitized to hearing about death and destruction, but once it comes to our front door we have no idea how to deal with it. It shakes us on such a deep level that we’re broken for days or weeks on end.

That’s how I feel.

It was all unexpected. My grandma had been in and out of the hospital for years and always bounced back, and at 74, when I called she still sounded like my grandma. Sure, she was tired sometimes and not feeling too great but hell, that happens to me, too.

I’ve been worried about this kind of call for the last few years and it was something I dreaded nearly every day. My grandparents were all getting old, and with the exception of my grandma (Joan, 74), they are all in the 80s. I knew my time with them was limited and it didn’t help that I was 6 hours away in Oswego; I knew it would be hard to race down to Long Island/New York City if something like this happened; I knew I would be too broken to drive.

As my (second) graduation date approaches, I’ve been thinking about where I want to live. Oswego is great. I have a lot of connections here and I think I have a good shot at getting some kind of job, even if it doesn’t pay that well. But after all of this, a part of me wants to be closer to family, and I want the same for Leah. We both live roughly 6 and a half hours away from our family, which makes trips home difficult to plan and, mostly to me as Leah likes driving (almost) any distance, it’s a pain in the butt.

I’m upset at myself that I needed something terrible to happen to realize something that appears to be quite simple and obvious. It also made me come to grips with the fact that I’m almost too busy to think about what I want out of my life. Sure, my hectic schedule may pay off as a job one day, but I’m not enjoying this ride as much as I should. All I want to do is make enough money to live, play drums and hockey a few times a week, and enjoy things with my girlfriend. I just want to be the things she thought I was and would become.

I’m a simple dude.

Anyway, today is feeling like a hard day. I can’t get the thought of her out of my head. A friend of mine, Tim, told me to hold on to everything I had. Luckily, I’m one of those people who keeps your birthday cards for no less than 5 years, so I have plenty lying around my mom’s house. I also  have voicemails from her, one of which is her singing happy birthday to me this past November.

I loved her more than I could put into words. She was good with words, always beat me at scrabble.

She was the one who made me love New York City, embarrassed me in stores by singing out loud, and brought me to the lake house in New Jersey.

I love  and miss you, grandma.

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