Me Gramps
It’s been a few days since I hit the bloggerboard, so apologies out to you my friends. I shan’t be away for so long next time.
And I also promise to never use the word “shan’t” again.
The Monaco 3 were down in the steamy south for a spell. Unfortunate circumstances. We were saying goodbye to Grandpa. He passed on many weeks ago, but due to another illness in the family, we couldn’t get the family together until now.
A bittersweet visit. I’m one of those strange folks who actually enjoy my time with family. I believe my immediate family is somewhat of an anomaly these days. Both mom and dad are happily married after 40 years. My brother and I never experienced the pedophilic uncle, the alcoholic father, custody battles, jail time, brat camp, or fat camp. Idyllic, really.
My parents successfully transported a 1950’s existence into the 80’s, and we’re carrying it on. We all continue to floss once a day, pay our taxes, and live in the burbs. It's boring, but refreshingly so.
Grandpa was born in 1911. A first generation American. Don’t know much about his family, beyond the fact that they came from some town south of Naples, Italy. (I’ll find out the name for ya.) Grandpa had a twin. Actually, he was one of 4 sets of twins—and this kind of "twinning" was done the natural way, before chemicals n’ needles n’ procedures. Sadly, his twin brother drowned at the age of 18. Must've been quite a shock for Grandpa.
For those of you who met Grandpa you’d agree that he was a perpetually happy guy. He wasn’t a trained musician, but he was as musical at the core. He didn’t just talk to you, he sang to you, every word spoken in melody. He’d forgo the customary two-syllable “hello” for his five- or six-syllable version, “Hellllloooooo.” Made you feel like he was truly glad to see you. He often burst out into song, serenading my grandmother, mostly in public.
He was a whistler. And a damn good one. Never heard anyone hit the notes he hit. He’d add tremolo and vibrato for effect. Birds would double take.
He trusted everyone. Even when he was experiencing the effects of dementia in his final years and didn’t recognize his own wife and son, he still trusted them. He thanked them repeatedly, when no thanks was needed. One evening he even slipped his own wife a few bills, saying “Thank you. You’re a good person.”
Grandpa was an endlessly sweet man. I have much more to write about him. Tons of funny stories, and you'll hear about them. But I wanted to say goodbye to him first. See ya, Grandpa, eventually.
Love,
G
And I also promise to never use the word “shan’t” again.
The Monaco 3 were down in the steamy south for a spell. Unfortunate circumstances. We were saying goodbye to Grandpa. He passed on many weeks ago, but due to another illness in the family, we couldn’t get the family together until now.
A bittersweet visit. I’m one of those strange folks who actually enjoy my time with family. I believe my immediate family is somewhat of an anomaly these days. Both mom and dad are happily married after 40 years. My brother and I never experienced the pedophilic uncle, the alcoholic father, custody battles, jail time, brat camp, or fat camp. Idyllic, really.
My parents successfully transported a 1950’s existence into the 80’s, and we’re carrying it on. We all continue to floss once a day, pay our taxes, and live in the burbs. It's boring, but refreshingly so.
Grandpa was born in 1911. A first generation American. Don’t know much about his family, beyond the fact that they came from some town south of Naples, Italy. (I’ll find out the name for ya.) Grandpa had a twin. Actually, he was one of 4 sets of twins—and this kind of "twinning" was done the natural way, before chemicals n’ needles n’ procedures. Sadly, his twin brother drowned at the age of 18. Must've been quite a shock for Grandpa.
For those of you who met Grandpa you’d agree that he was a perpetually happy guy. He wasn’t a trained musician, but he was as musical at the core. He didn’t just talk to you, he sang to you, every word spoken in melody. He’d forgo the customary two-syllable “hello” for his five- or six-syllable version, “Hellllloooooo.” Made you feel like he was truly glad to see you. He often burst out into song, serenading my grandmother, mostly in public.
He was a whistler. And a damn good one. Never heard anyone hit the notes he hit. He’d add tremolo and vibrato for effect. Birds would double take.
He trusted everyone. Even when he was experiencing the effects of dementia in his final years and didn’t recognize his own wife and son, he still trusted them. He thanked them repeatedly, when no thanks was needed. One evening he even slipped his own wife a few bills, saying “Thank you. You’re a good person.”
Grandpa was an endlessly sweet man. I have much more to write about him. Tons of funny stories, and you'll hear about them. But I wanted to say goodbye to him first. See ya, Grandpa, eventually.
Love,
G
posted by Greg Monaco at 7:02 AM
2 Comments:
When the sun goes down up here, things cool a bit. Not the case in FL. It steams all day and night, baby. Keeps yer stogies nice n moist though.
Well, Helllloooooo....I think I'm still sweating from the trip. I don't think donkey butter has ever lingered quite like this. I thought returning to Denver would be a bit of a break from the heat, but it was a balmy 99 degrees today (101 tomorrow). In the spirit of Grandpa I think I'm going to go duct tape something, anything. Good to see you broya and once again tennis did not have a winner.
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