Letter To My Grandfather

Hey Giovanni,

I hear you're doing fine on the Other Side. Please try to visit Dad in his dreams and tell him you're ok, and everything's ok. I haven't heard from him since you crossed over, you know, Dad isn't as much of a cosmic hippy as I am and needs you to come and tell him you're ok. Please, Grandpa, please. Wear one of your famous jaunty caps. You were always a snappy dresser!

I'm sad I didn't make it on time, Grandpa. But you know that: you know how I watched the sunrise that morning and wrote something that I can't find right now. Something about how beautiful the sunrise is every morning out in Joshua Tree and I would dedicate every sunrise to you from now on, forever.

My cousin was Baptized last week and I told her your middle name is Baptiste. Giovanni Baptiste Napolitano. I think that's the most beautiful name in the world. I'm so proud to be Giovanna.

Remember when I called you from Italy? How cool was that? Ripped out the pages and pages of Napolitanos from the phone book and sent them to you. They may have made fun of me all my life in America, but I sure wasn't a stranger in Napoli. I thought of you every day and bought you a rosary from the Vatican. Did I ever give you one of the glow in the dark baby Jesus's?   They had them in 3 sizes! The Pope slipped in the bathtub that day so I didn't see him (try to) talk but I wanted to, for you.

Remember how mad you were when I sent you the photo of me dressed as a nun in fishnets and high heels? Sheesh, Grandpa, you haven't been Catholic since Ellis Island! That really surprised me but I was happy as well that you hadn't forgotten...us, all the way back to Caserta.  

Grandpa please visit Dad.

Jesus Christ how old were you when I yanked you out of the moshpit in Charlotte? 80? All of a sudden an arm reaches up out of the crowd holding a Bud and dammit it's YOU. my freakin' Grandfather in his damn green jaunty cap in the middle of a moshpit. I hauled you up on the stage and sat your silly ass down on a chair..that's what I need, for you to break something. We did a Sinatra song for you, but I can't remember which - I didn't have to worry, though. When you were crossing the street and got hit by a car by a hit and run driver, you walked your bloody old ass right on out of there...blacker and bluer than anything I'd ever seen.

My Grandfather, who got a sterling-silver keepsake engaved from Clare Booth Luce. (Through the wrinkles, your sparkling blue eyes warned me to ask no more about it). My Grandfather, who could drink me under the table well into his 80's. My Grandfather, whose family founded the Italian American Association, where my great uncle Pinto was mysteriously hit by a car after a 'meeting' in Bridgeport; where my great-grandmother put white Italian cheese through the grater and his Russian father-in-law made my dad shovel snow as a kid..

And you bought your wife a gold bead for every year you were married..was it 40- some odd years? From the same jeweler, in Charlotte. 'All his sons' you said, 'followed in his footsteps. Except one, he turned out to be a bum. An artist'.

That hurt my feelings at the time. Remember when I sent you a boombox, with a Frank Sinatra CD in it, when we signed to Capitol? You thought that was the bomb, being signed to Sinatra's label.  

Remember when me & Dad drove from New Orleans to Charlotte? I'll never forget how surprised you were when you opened the door and saw Dad for the first time in 30 years. I stayed in the car..my God in the porchlight, you in your bathrobe, you took a step back..in shock..you both looked exactly the same.

Please visit Dad and tell him it's all ok. No one should be sad..no one. We both know you can get around a lot better now and you can be with all of us when we need you. I love you very ,very much, and sometimes I wish I weren't so much like you. Or my dad. Then again, because I am, I owe you both everything.

Please visit Dad.

Love,

Giovanna

 

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