A Tale Of Two Grandfathers

Unlike the youth of today, I only had two grandfathers - my mothers dad and my fathers.

My fathers parents were immigrants from Sicily. And although my grandmother spoke very good English, I could never really understand my grandfather. He knew a few words, like boy and dog, but most of the time it was a combination of Italian and broken English, which as a child made no sense to me.

As I grew into my teen years, I became self-absorbed in my own life and a grandparent that I couldn't understand was not a priority to me. When he died, I was sad, but it wasn't until I got older that I realized the opportunity that I lost never getting to know him.

My other grandfather I knew very well because he lived with us. We would always watch football together on Sunday afternoons and we both also shared a love of movies. He would go to the movies every Saturday night by himself and the next day I could hardly wait to find out which movie he saw. He loved James Bond and he hated "Easy Rider" which I remember was the last movie he ever saw.

I also remember the last time I ever saw him alive. My parents were out of town and they had hired an elderly woman to stay with us. I remember it was around three in the morning and I had woken up because I had heard a noise downstairs. When I went downstairs I saw my grandfather on a gurney being taken outside to an ambulance that was parked outside.

My grandfather saw me and started yelling (and I mean yelling) at me to "go back to bed."

Two days later, he died.

I was never upset that he yelled at me. Even then at twelve years of age I understood why. I have often wondered, though, if during his last days alone in his hospital bed if he felt bad about yelling at me. I hope he knew that I understood.

I also wonder what my Italian grandfather thought about never really knowing his grandchildren. I was too young to know if he ever made an effort, but I would bet money that he did.

Sad memories from my youth that haunt me still today.