Getting to Know Your Nonno

Yesterday would have been my Father-in-Law's 79th birthday.
 
My youngest daughter's middle-name honours him, but she will never have the chance to get to know him. So my intention here is to give her a just a glimpse of the man he was. This is addressed to her...

Your Nonno made time for people.

Let me start with his funeral. I don't remember all of the details of the funeral home and the visitation period, but I do remember seeing vast crowds of people come to pay their respects. There were the people I knew (of course), the people the rest of the family knew (of course), and then there were scores of people that we didn't know at all. These strangers (to us) all knew your Nonno. They all had stories to tell about meeting him in the mall, on the street, at the gas station, in the grocery store, ... That's because unlike most people, your Nonno not only liked to meet people, he loved to engage them. He made time for people. He made them smile and he made them laugh. He was so engaging, and hard to resist, that a simple meeting became a lasting relationship.

Your Nonno appreciated the little things.

I remember warm summer days, sitting on his back porch after a brief game of bocci, your Nonno and I would be sitting at his patio table eating something from the garden and playing scopa or briscola (Italian card games at which he'd love to beat me). He'd look up with a glint in his eye and say something like "I'm very rich. I have good food and a nice house. I have a beautiful family. What else do I need?" And he always meant it. To look in his face was to see what true contentment looks like. You will rarely find someone who is as completely satisfied with life as your Nonno was. He genuinely appreciated the little things.

Your Nonno was selfless.

Nonno used to buy lottery tickets. Not because he wanted vast sums of money for himself, but because he wanted to be able to give vast sums of money to the rest of us. One Saturday night, he dutifully checked his numbers and saw that he'd won millions (he actually hadn't, there was some sort of glitch on the news channel he watched and they had the wrong numbers). Apparently, by the morning he had planned out how he was going to give all of the money away to all of us. I like to think that amongst all of that benefactoring, he would have kept enough money for himself to buy the truck he always wanted, but I wouldn't put it past him to save that for his next big lottery win.

Your Nonno cared.

I've told this story many times before - including in the words I spoke at your baby naming ceremony when I talked about the man behind your middle-name - but I want to tell it one more time...

The first time I attended a Catholic mass with your Nonno, he (of course) sat next to me. This was pretty soon after I first met him, and long before your Mom and I were married. Because of my religious beliefs, I didn't kneel when it came time to do so. Stealing an uncomfortable glance around the Church, I saw that I was pretty much the only person there not kneeling. Then looking to my right I saw that your Nonno had decided that he too would take a pass on kneeling just then, so that I would feel a little less out of place. If I could show you the look on his face that moment as he knowingly nodded at me, you would see what it looks like to truly care about someone else.

Your Nonno loved life.

Whatever he did, whatever time of day it was, your Nonno enjoyed himself: Eating, for sure - he loved a good meal more than anyone I've ever met; after the meal, when we were making "a nice 'deegest'" by playing bocci, or going for a walk; whenever his grandkids were anywhere near him (except when they cried, but then his anger was always directed at the nearest adult - never the child); when he was teaching me to plant a tree, or water the garden, or peel a grilled pepper - and I was failing miserably... Whatever he did, whenever it was, he always had a smile on his face and - very, very often - his telltale baritone chuckle infusing the space around him with joy.

Your Nonno would have adored you.

It goes without saying that your Nonno would have adored you, as we all do. What makes me sad is that you won't be able to experience that adoration first hand. Your sisters and cousins will tell you that nobody gave a hug like Nonno. He was a giant teddy bear. He was their protector. He was their playmate. And he took pride in absolutely everything they did.

When I see you eating a meal in your undershirt, or complaining that your socks aren't comfortable, or giggling in the chuckling way that your Nonno did, I see echos of him in you. You carry his name and his blood. I hope you'll learn what you can from how he lived his life as well, and honour his memory by trying to be the kind of person he was. Make time for people. Appreciate the little things. Be selfless. Care. Love life.

Love, your Dad and a grateful Son-in-Law.