For as long as I can remember, I’ve bristled at any mention of my maternal grandfather. Whenever I’ve heard stories of his escapades as an Italian immigrant adapting to life in the US, instead of remembering him fondly, I’ve felt curiously annoyed or irritated.
I’ve often played devil’s advocate aloud or in my head whenever a family member lovingly described an interaction with him.
My father would affectionately reminisce, “He was loud and blustery and always laughing. What a character he was; forever joking and telling great stories.”
Instead of feeling happy my dad had positive memories of his father-in-law, I’d think, “Sure, Grandpa was always talking, but he never said more than five words to me. I was invisible to him.”
My mom would wax poetic about my grandfather’s ongoing financial support of his church. And laugh about how he admonished my grandmother for spending money on groceries for their six children. Instead of appreciating his quirkiness or relating to his financial fears, I was happy to point out my grandfather’s hypocrisy.
I’d hear repeatedly about how hard he worked and how much he sacrificed to come to this country. Instead of admiring his tenacity, I’d think, “Oy, enough with the martyrdom. He had it good – his wife and kids took care of his every need. The cheap bastard never spent a dime on them and hid all his money in metal pipes in his basement.”
If fault-finding and bitterness were marketable skills, I’d be as wealthy as my grandfather was upon his death at age 96.
I’ve often wondered why I never felt the warm, loving feelings toward him that appear to flow freely among my parents, siblings and extended family members; why mostly what I felt toward him was resentment.
Though I grew up seeing him regularly, my grandfather and I didn’t have much of a relationship. Perhaps it was the language barrier, he spoke only broken English, but we didn’t interact at all until I was a young adult and even then, our conversations were limited.
“Have some wine. Drink, drink!” was the extent of our connection. I’d giggle. He’d laugh. Enough said.
Except it wasn’t enough. Now, as an adult watching my father interact lovingly with my daughters, I’ve often felt deprived of a loving, committed grandfather figure who doted on me and showered me with affection.
Instead I experienced my grandfather as distant and demanding. Even at a young age, I hated what I perceived to be his favoritism of his sons and the disrespectful way he treated my grandmother. She was my hero – all warmth and hugs and generous bosom.
Grandma was the saint in my eyes. I’d prefer to hear more stories about her; to have known her as an adult instead of losing her as a young teenager. I’d like one of my grandmother’s impossibly comforting hugs right now.
My grandfather died in 1998. On the day of his funeral, I wrote a long, heartfelt letter to him expressing my anger and resentment. I blamed him for a lot of the dysfunction I saw in my family of origin and held him accountable. I tore up the letter all those years ago hoping to release the pain and ill feelings I was carrying. And all the shame I felt for resenting instead of admiring him.
Two weeks ago, my husband and I had lunch with my mom and dad. For the first time in my life, I felt eager to hear stories from them of my grandfather’s antics. Rather than judgment, I found myself fascinated by his life, compelled by his struggles and achievements, curious about his foibles and his larger than life persona.
I found myself wondering about his fears, jealousies and resentments. The stories I’d heard about him rarely acknowledged his weaknesses or failings. He was the hero in everyone’s eyes but mine, and I could only see his flaws. Suddenly, in wondering about his doubts and compulsions, I could feel his humanity. And my own.
During lunch my parents recounted many funny anecdotes about my grandfather, including the day he found an old toilet in the alley on his way home from work. Confident he could put this toilet to good use, he carried it on to the bus, eliciting disparaging comments from the bus driver.
His response? “The seats here stink. I brought my own.” He placed that toilet in the aisle and rode on his throne all the way home, confident no one would mess with him. I can clearly picture the self-congratulatory smirk on his face, the triumphant strut in his step.
I realized my grandfather did have something I admire – the ability not to care what other people thought of his actions. He was shameless. And fearless.
I’d like to steal some of my grandfather’s confidence and joie de vivre. (For the record, he can keep the old toilets. Not my thing.)
Maybe my family members could see all along what I’m only now experiencing – my grandfather was a human being, capable of great sacrifice and greater folly. He loved his family enough to provide for them day in and day out and what he lacked in affection, he perhaps made up for in marrying a woman capable of nothing but.
I imagine him as a little boy, 12 years old and living on his own in a foreign country. Working by day as a water boy for the railroad builders, fending for himself at night.
My heart is softening toward this man. I miss my grandmother. Maybe one day soon I’ll also miss my grandfather.
Incredible story telling writing. I loved it! You could write a novel.
Thanks, love. You wouldn’t be a publisher in disguise now, would you?
The toilet seat? Are you kidding me? You must be kidding? IT’s awesome. And It’s complicated to reach back to our grandparents. And they are gone, most of them, so they are targets and idols and ghosts. Love this story and the complex treatment of a man I sort of want to meet.
I wish they had on-bus video surveillance back then! Wouldn’t that be fun to see? I wish I had known him better too. Feeling a lot of sadness about him lately – wish he was around to tell me these stories in person.
He looks like one of my relatives…since I’m full-blooded Italian…all my relatives are “loud, blustery, & always laughing”…to this day, I get nervous when I’m around people who are TOO quiet! Ha!! I love him!! Great story!!
Full-blooded here too! Thank you for loving my grandpa – I’m starting to feel his joy too!
I really enjoyed this! Emotions are so complex when it comes to people we are related too. It’s nice that you can start to see some good things! Loved the toilet seat, that’s priceless.
I only wish I had a picture of him with that toilet seat. I’d give it a place of honor in our home! I’m grateful to be making some progress in the grandpa love department!
Interesting to hear your thoughts on Grandpa. I think as a child I was intimidated by him and by Grandma because I couldn’t speak or understand Italian. When I was a Junior in high school I had a project to interview an immigrant. I interviewed Grandpa with assistance from my Dad. I gave the tape to my Dad after Grandpa died. It was an interview where I felt I got to know him and understand the struggles the family had. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to know Grandma too well. I still remember some of their old tupperware and dishes. I remember eating mashed potatoes by their house in Berwyn, thinking Grandma hid peas in the potatoes (they were just lumpy). I remember Grandpa’s work room with the smell of metal and the “Tool girls” calendars on the wall. I remember staying over at their house one weekend when my parents went to Florida so my Dad could take a plumbing test. I was quickly kicked out of Auntie Marie’s bed onto the cold, hard, wood floor…and I got the creeps when I heard footsteps going to the upstairs apartment. I dream about the smell from the ‘pantry’ with the tomato sauce and cheese….I remember Auntie Cookie’s fascination with collecting those gold elastic strings that accented a Marshall Field’s box. I often hear about the story of my Dad and Grandpa on the streetcar with a huge pipe that they just held out the window of the car…so the toilet seat story doesn’t surprise me! Thanks for posting this. I love to hear everyone’t memories. xoxo
Angie – I am sooooo grateful you responded. I love reading your memories. I’d love to hear more. I dream about the tomato sauce too! And remember being creeped out by the footsteps just like you! I love that you interviewed Grandpa and got to know him. What I wouldn’t give for that opportunity now! If you still have the tape or the paper (if you wrote one), I would love, love, love to hear/read it. I’m so happy to connect with you. Thank you! Hugs to all of you!
^^^ Cool. I feel like a peeping Tom. Lovely post, as ever, momma.
Thanks, love!
Interesting. As an italian myself, I know the men can be tough on the women. I remember hearing about how bad my grandfather (who died before I was born) treated my grandma. Not cool.
Such different mentalities back then. And still not cool. Thanks for commenting.
Terrific story, and well written. I think its great that you’re revisiting the emotions and the stories. It’s never too late to try and understand someone, and by doing that we better understand ourselves. Win-win. Nice writing, I feel the need to say again.
I’m comfortable with you saying it as many times as possible! Thank you! I am definitely understanding myself better – it’s painful but worth it. Thanks for understanding!
Our perceptions are so different at different times in life, as are our emotions and needs. Our relationships and bonds are so complicated and fascinating. I really enjoyed reading this.
Thank you! I agree and love how you said it!
Long ago I learned not to judge the behavior of the people I love. It’s simply impossible to rationalize anyone else’s actions.
You’re a wise man. Well said!
Sounds like an interesting and complex man and relationship that the two of you had. Why is he on your mind now?
Good question. I was amazed at my intense interest in stories about him the other day during lunch with my mom and dad. Now that I’m writing, I guess I’m more eager to hear good stories. While I was writing the post I started bawling – I’d like to think there’s some healing going on in me. We’ll see!
Healing is always a good thing. I find when I am getting more into my writing, I look deeper inside myself. Looking deeper for you might mean understanding the relationship you have with your grandfather.
I agree. I imagine there’s a lot to mine in that relationship!
This was so well written. Loved it.
It’s really hard to reconcile love for older generations with their flaws. My grandfather, for instance, grew up in Apartheid South Africa and was a POW in North Africa. The shit that comes out of his mouth is jaw droppingly not okay like 50% of time. But then he’s also done some really amazingly kind and loving things. It’s hard to fathom his life experience and make it seem relatable to my own. But I find as I get older, empathy gets easier.
Great post!
I agree – it’s hard to understand and empathize with life experiences so dramatically different from my own. I’m grateful the empathy is flowing a little more freely these days! Thank you for commenting and retweeting me!
It seems like he was neither the hero the others saw nor the villain you imagined, but that your image of a villain was enhanced by their unwillingness to grant the truth in your words. Who the hell chides his wife for feeding the family? And yet, I agree, he seems like a fascinating man, one who was well-worth being descended from.
You’ve captured my feelings/experiences perfectly in your comment. Will you write my next post? Thank you!
I love this post and how we follow your shift as the story unfolds. It’s amazing how our hearts can soften to someone that we have known all our lives – when we expand our perception. I LOVE the fact that your grandfather was shameless and fearless. I need a little more of that too!
Me, too! Shameless would be a miracle of the highest order!! I’m grateful my heart is softening. Feels like grace, cause it sure isn’t me!!
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Thanks for the pingback!!
I also enjoyed reading and I am fascinated by the shift. I wonder what brought it on? Whatever the impetus I think it’s amazing that you were open to recognizing that shift and committed to following it wherever it led. Even happier to hear it’s leading you down a path of intrigue and fascination.
Even though there was so much growth in this piece I still loved this line: “If fault-finding and bitterness were marketable skills, I’d be as wealthy as my grandfather was upon his death at age 96.” Cracked me up!
Thank you! Know anyone willing to pay for these uber useful skills? I’m truly an expert at judgment and criticism too. Anyone? Anyone?
I think that part of the re-evaluating we do concerning relatives happens as we grow older and wiser. I know that since becoming a parent I have viewed the actions and reactions of family in a completely different light — almost always softer, too. I wonder if it is because I now know how darn hard it is to raise a family and live in this world — as if I’ve lost some of the innocent ability of a child to see everything in black and white?
Loved this post and I’d love to read more as you write about it. Great work!
I’ll take softer any day. I feel relieved to be feeling softer toward my grandfather and eager to see what comes next.Thank you for describing your/my experiences so eloquently!
Great story and very well told! The toilet anecdote was priceless. I could just picture him sitting there on that commode with a “don’t you dare mess with me” expression on his face.
It is so easy to judge our older relatives when we are young and incapable of fully understanding their behavior. Having your own kids changes everything, don’t you think? I know that was what helped me forgive and understand my father.
I agree – having kids adds so many dimensions and shades to things/people/experiences I used to think of in black or white, good or bad terms. And I can’t get the image of him sitting on the toilet out of my head!
I loved your final line, and the honesty in the entire post. It’s hard for me to imagine having such a different opinion of a family member as you did from everyone else. People in my family seem to be either good or basketcases, and it seems to be determined by consensus. That shows a lot of inner strength.
Thank you. I’d like to think I have inner strength but I was terrified to post this cause I’ve never been explicit about my contempt for him. And I totally get what you mean by your feelings being determined by consensus. What a great way to phrase it!
This was so similar to my experience with my grandfather. He was racist, constantly had affairs, and was so absent from the home, leaving my grandmother who couldn’t even drive to struggle. I remember when he died when I was in high school, not shedding a tear. In some ways I now look at him fondly, but mostly I just miss my grandma, too.
Great, well-told post.
Thank you for understanding and relating. Sending you a big, grandma-style hug!
The angry letter was probably a good the first step. Time passing probably helps too.
I”m a little slow on the compassion front, but better late than never!
Lovely post! My favorite part is your realization that a somewhat-cold man made up for his own demeanor by marrying a warm, affectionate woman. She sounds amazing, by the way!
That’s my favorite line also! My grandmother’s hugs could stop the world for a moment and heal any hurt. Amazing, indeed! Thanks for visiting.
This was a touching story. I liked the way you came to an understanding of what you grandfather was and wasn’t. I had grandparents who immigrated from Italy, too. You could be describing our family dynamics (although my grandfather died when I was 4) and the women were just as you described (all my great aunt and of course, grandma). The quality you took from him about not worrying/caring what others thought of him is a strong one.
Beautiful post. Family relationships are so very complicated. I’m glad you are making peace with and learning more about your grandfather.
I loved the toilet story. It told so much about the man he was.
Wow, this really hit home for me. My grandfather was born around the same time as yours, came to America by himself as a teenager and was fearless. He died 6 months after I was born, so I’ve had to rely on the many stories I’ve heard about him and other than his business accomplishments, few are very kind. That generation, they were cut from a different cloth.
I have a strange family and it’s so fascinating how each person remember people, events, situations differently from one another. We all have our scope and I’m glad that yours widened just a tad to empathize a little more. It’s hard to do.
This was so beautifully crafted. You have every right to have complex feelings about him. I love your honesty in that.