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PAPA-LOGIC

Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶
Dad, circa 1946

In 1930 at the age of 15 my dad emigrated to the U.S. from Sicily. He spoke no English, had very little money and knew a bit about barbering. He settled in Brooklyn, moving in with friends from his hometown in Sicily, but Dad couldn’t live off the kindness of his friends forever; he needed to find work. Fortunately his friend knew of a barber who was looking for help so Dad applied for the job and started work the next day.

Every morning Dad would show up at the barber shop with a copy of the Italian newspaper, Il Progresso, under his arm. This went on for a week or so until one day his boss said to him in Italian “Hey, Vito. If you want to learn how to speak English, do yourself a favor and stop buying that newspaper. Instead, buy the New York Times and read it every day.” My dad took that advice to heart and began reading the paper from front to back; sounding out the words he read and dealing with some English-speaking customers is how be became fluent in English. It wasn’t easy but he stuck with it. He was a self-taught man and after a few years he had just a trace of an accent. I give my dad a lot of credit for that.

My parents were introduced by mutual friends and married in 1939; their first baby, a son named Frank, developed nephritis and tragically passed away in 1943 at the age of two. As soon as the death certificate was filed, Dad was drafted. He served his entire tour of duty overseas, something he never liked to talk about. The one thing I do know about Dad’s army days was that he fought in the Battle of the Bulge.

After Dad returned from the war, my sister and I were born and we moved into a new house in The Bronx with my maternal grandparents. During the first few years living there, we had fresh Italian products delivered, including olive oil imported from Sicily. Dad was jealous of the handsome salesman and demanded my mom stop all deliveries. Mom was a beautiful woman and men were naturally attracted to her but she never gave them the time of day. She wasn’t a flirt and the thought of cheating on my dad never crossed her mind; killing him, yes, but cheating on him? Never!

Our family was very musical; we all sang, my sister and I played the piano and Dad played the mandolin. He shocked us by auditioning for our church’s production of The Mikado – and he landed the role! What a riot seeing this mustachioed Sicilian gent made up to look Japanese wearing an authentic kimono and singing Gilbert and Sullivan patter songs. He was the hit of the show!

In 1965 we went to Sicily to visit family. One day my parents went out shopping while my sister and I stayed behind with our cousins. When they returned, my dad had a gift for me – my first Italian rock & roll record, a hit called “Ho Rimasto” (“I Stayed”). Dad hated rock and roll so in my eyes this was just about the coolest thing he ever did!

Years later, when my sister and I had kids, they started calling my dad “Papa”. Dad was always coming up with corny jokes or comments which soon became known as “Papa-Logic”. We’d roll our eyes when he would intentionally order an “Al Pacino” instead of a cappuccino. Dad loved being controversial, too, and took great pride in getting his point across. I remember one day he saw a sign in a pizzeria window which read “WE HAVE THE BEST PIZZA IN TOWN!” Nothing wrong with that, right? Well, Dad felt differently and made no bones about it. He started a heated discussion with the pizzeria owner, demanding that the sign be changed to read “WE THINK WE HAVE THE BEST PIZZA IN TOWN!” Dad wouldn’t back down and the sign remained unchanged. And to make matters worse, he was banned from the pizzeria!

Times were rough in the early days; my parents struggled just like all young couples and faced more than their share of sorrow. They worked hard and saved their money, always putting the needs of family first. We weren’t rich but we had everything we needed.

My dad was a good guy; even though he could get on our nerves big time, he had a heart of gold. He adored his family and loved everything about being Sicilian. Still, one of his proudest accomplishments in life was the day he did the New York Times crossword puzzle – in ink!

We celebrated Dad’s birthday the other day; these are just a few of my memories.

“Ciao, papa! Buon compleanno! Ti voglio bene.”

 NAR © 2023
Orig. Pub. 2021

Mom & Dad, 1939, Bermuda honeymoon
Dad with Baby Frank, 1942

Dad’s super-cool gift to me – Italian rock & roll!

I hope you’ll join me today
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17 thoughts on “PAPA-LOGIC”

  6. I am unable to find, Nancy, why exactly I was deeply touched by your Papa-Logic…

    …Certo, when a dear friend takes us for a walk on such a personal memory lane, one is bound to tread accordingly.

    … Could it be that it was his birthday ?
    Buon compleanno, signore Vito

    No, these are not reasons enough for my heartstrings vibrating.

    Could it be the 1939 photos from Bermuda?
    Two gorgeous persons in love, with a common life ahead of them. Yet, they were unaware that the world was already in a headfirst dive into the waves of war…
    Battle of the Bulge… the last major German offensive…you can imagine the rage of the fanatics as they were seeing defeat approaching… SS troops murdered all American soldiers captured in that battle… 75,000 USA casualties.
    How can anyone emerge from that hell unaltered? Still, your dad found the strength to became again a husband, a father, a friend.

    There is one more reason, cara – equally, if not more, important.
    Every time you bring forth those memories and you share them , a soul in the sky smiles… he is remembered, he is still loved.
    Vito, once again in all white ( and I’m sure he still has his sunglasses on… because you know… you can’t take style out of this Sicilian) smiles and shines his love upon you.

    And the last thing I’m gonna say, signora, is that from now on my cappuccino will be ordered as Al Pacino.

    Arrivederci.

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    1. It took me a while to reply to this comment, caro.

      Every point you mentioned gave me a little chill and the way you showed respect to my Dad by calling him Signore Vito – that touched me deeply.

      My parents told me stories about their restrictions on board their cruise ship to Bermuda – the beautiful ship was painted battleship grey; no one was allowed on deck after dark with a lit cigarette, and others which escape me at the moment.

      They also spoke softly to me of their baby boy, the brother I never got to meet. Their pain and sorrow was too personal for me to include in my story but I remember the day I found one of Baby Frank’s little toys hidden in the bottom of a drawer in my parent’s room. How my mother cried when she saw me playing with it. The toy was in a cigar box with Bermuda sand and a medal from my father’s army uniform.

      I am not embarrassed to say I cried when I read about the Battle of the Bulge; perhaps I am feeling more emotional than usual but the thought of my dad (or anyone) fighting for weeks in unbelievably hellish conditions and coming home physically unscathed is incomprehensible to me.

      This was a post I almost did not publish; in all honesty I did not think there was anything exceptional about it. You have made me realize not publishing it would have been a mistake, if for no one else than for me.

      Mille, mille grazie, caro, per il tuo sentito pensiero.

      Arrivederci ❤︎

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    1. Thank you so much, Lesley; there were many different feeling going through me yesterday.
      I always loved hearing my Dad play the mandolin. You play, also? It’s got such a lovely sound.
      Many men return from war and never talk of their experiences. It’s too sad to adequately express.
      Thanks for sharing your thoughts with me today!

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