valeria out loud

Hi everyone- Happy 🇺🇸 July!

I wanted to give my hand at writing about my grandfather today. Today is his birthday. If he were alive, my grandfather would be 121 years old. 💕

Happy birthday Nonno Gaetano!

A little backstory before I begin- my parents moved to America from Italy in 1970. They left behind everyone and everything that they knew for a better life in the states. A new beginning. I am glad they came here, I love being Italian-American, but their dreams for opportunities coming here left an indelible void on my upbringing as I grew up with virtually zero family. Though we had many friends fill that role over time- it isn’t the same.

I have a huge family too…in Italy. My grandparents were born in 1898 – 1906. I have 17 aunts/uncles, 40 first cousins, and a incomprehensible amount of second and third cousins! But. Being so far away from everyone, knowing they all exist, made me feel, well, a bit alone compared to if I was back in Italy. My grandmothers both passed away before I was born, but my grandfathers both were alive while I was a child- in Italy. My father, who has ten siblings, did have four siblings who moved from Italy to Manhattan throughout the 1950’s and 60’s. Even though my parents started their American journey in Manhattan, they quickly then migrated to Massachusetts because…well, space. And though my dad had those siblings here in the states, we didn’t see them much outside of holidays, and if that, as time moved on. My mom’s seven siblings- she is 1 of 8 children, all stayed in their hometown in Italy. So we had to fly to see them, as they never could make the flight to see us. And this story is about my first time in Italy.

Ok now that you have a but of my history, let’s talk about my meeting Nonno Gaetano.

---

When I was seven years old, my parents took the whole family to Sicily for the Summer- our first official family trip back to my parents hometown. I can recall a lot from that trip- most of all, the scorching Summer sun that was always hanging high above every day, casting a golden hue over everything. Their town was curious and so old. I had never seen any place like it at that time. The food was amazing. Seeing all of my aunts and uncles was incredible. These were ‘characters’ who I had only heard of in the stories my parents shared.

I recall one of the first evenings of our trip the most. My aunt, my mom and I went to pick up my Nonno for dinner. My aunt, my mom’s oldest sister, was tasked with taking care of Nonno as he had started to need more help with his age. She had set him up in a one bedroom, street- level apartment near to her home. His apartment wasn’t fancy or anything. It was filled with average furnishings. A small table with chairs. A bed in the back. A side table. A few crosses on the wall. A true Sicilian man cave.

Overall, his apartment had an old world feel, but oddly, it had this large garage style door on the front that he kept opened to the street all day. My Nonno sat on an open-backed whicker chair while holding his cane between his legs letting the time pass each day. Every passerby would stop, greet my Nonno with a grand handshake and two kisses on each cheek- there was so much respect -and then they’d go on their way. I loved seeing that- that feeling of being a part of a loving community with so much respectful behavior.

When my Nonno saw us approaching he went inside the apartment. My Nonno smoked a pipe and he went in to grab his pipe. I remember watching him take all the loose tobacco to fill his off-white ivory pipe before lighting it. The wispy smoke rising from the pipe, some going up his nose and wafting out from his mouth. The smell of the smoke was delightful.

He sat back on his chair then asked for me to sit on his lap, so I did. That feeling of my full weight of my tiny body resting on his frail boney legs. He had on a maroon colored sweater cardigan that had tufted brown leather buttons along the placket. I rested my head on his shoulder, as I took in all the sounds around us. There was a sense of contentment within me, pure joy in that moment. In the background, my mom and aunt were cleaning up his apartment a little bit – they were deep into conversation talking loudly-and I noticed my Nonno Gaetano’s shaky hands. One hand was on my back propping me up. His other hand placed his smokey pipe on a plate by his side then reached into his pants pocket. He retrieved a cinquecento lire- a 500 lire coin -former Italian money. He smiled so wide as he gave that coin to me in secret. He whispered, ‘Vai a cumprari nu gelatu’, as he motioned to the store across the way. (‘buy an ice cream’- in Sicilian) I dashed off his lap faster than fast to buy an ice cream. I was thrilled as I skipped to the store, but it was more than just the money or for the ice cream. It was that tenderness of his gesture. How he made me feel. He didn’t have a lot of money to give out and he had so many grandchildren- 25 in total- but in that moment I felt like the only one.

A few days later, we had a big celebration at my uncle’s farmhouse for my Nonno’s birthday. He was turning 80! I was only seven years old at that time, so my memory of the day is very spotty. I can recall the rustic nature of the farm. It was situated a top of a hill covered in a vineyard. The road up the hill was rocky and most everyone’s cars couldn’t make the trip up it. I remember that my Nonno was sitting at this big table by the side of the house. At the center. He wanted me to sit with him and gathered my sister and the other young grandchildren by his side. I stared as his round cheeks framed his smile and his brown eyes danced in the sunlight. I really never had seen anyone this old up close before. His pipe smoke left a scent on the dark sweater he was wearing. It smelled like home. I noticed how his skin was worn with age but also looked young as he smiled a tremendous amount. That big cake sitting in front of him while all of my cousins and all of my aunts and uncles sang together. My family.

How whole I felt.

So. Every time I catch a scent of pipe tobacco, I’m transported back to these days, to the heat of the Sicilian summer, to the comfort of my Nonno’s lap, that shiny cinque cento lire and to the sound of his voice reminding me of my worth. It is a memory I hold dear, a connection to a grandfather I was fortunate enough to meet, just once.

xo

Auguri Nonno. Buon Compleanno