Aunt Annie, Grandmom and Mom
There are people in this world that
no matter their age; they are children at heart. These sensitive people have the ability to
connect with a child; to understand what’s going on in
a child’s mind and to comfort that child, even when no one else can see that
child’s pain. My grandmother, my mother’s mother, was that special type of
person. Grandmom Marie was one cool lady who only spoke to us in Italian. Half the time her grandchildren weren’t quite
sure what she was saying….except when she was angry, and then...we all recognized the curse
words.
Grandmom was born in Naples, but
moved here before the start of the Second World War. My grandfather had already
been living in the states and worked as a baker making Italian bread; yummy!
He
had a house on Ellsworth Street between 7th and 8th and
Federal streets in South Philly, not far from the Italian Market. When my grandfather
finally convinced my grandmother to move to America, my mother was already 15
years old.
Aunt Annie, Uncle Mario and Mom
My grandmother had never adjusted
to living here in the states. Her family had money and they owned a beautiful
home in Benevento, but God was looking out for her because the house she lived in with my
mom, aunt and uncle was bombed during the war, killing the cousins living in
the house.
My Grandmother was a strict woman
and my mother was the same way, but mom was never allowed to hit us if Grandmom
was around. Mom would argue with her mother, saying, “You spanked me.”
Grandmom would throw her hands up
in the air and quickly counter, “Stupido.”
I was Grandmom’s favorite,
although, my sisters and cousins might argue that point. But I think it was because
I was always sick as a child with chronic anemia; she was the only one who
could get me to eat the disgusting cooked liver dish that the doctor had
recommended my mother make for me every day.
Grandmom was always praying;
carried the rosary beads wherever she went. She even did her household choirs
while saying the rosary. I asked her one time why she prayed so much. I was 5 years
old, but I remember the conversation as if it was yesterday.
Grandmom's actual rosary beads
“I pray for all the stupid people?”
“Oh????” I replied. Did she mean
me; my sisters, brother, cousins?
“Not you, piccolina?” She replied
as she glanced out the door. She was watching my mother park the car. My mother
was as bad at parking as she was at driving. The sound of metal scrapping
against metal caused my Grandmother to wince and mutter, “Stupido, vaffanculo, and
a few other choice word.” Her neighbors were always complaining to poor Grandmom about mom’s
driving.
Grandmom died when I was 13. She had
chronic leukemia and had an infection that her body could not fight. Her
passing was hard on all her grandchildren; we had lost our protector, our angel,
our confidant. We never forgot her and the way she made us all feel special and
loved. I’m always telling stories about her to my own grandchildren, and when my friends remark that I’m a
great grandmother, I thank them, but then I think of my grandmother. It was
really she who taught me how to be a Grandmom.
Grazie Nonna
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