I sat with my arms folded on the kitchen table. There were crumbs of plenty from the bread we broke and pasta piled high. The fresh mozzarella melted in our mouths. The meal was good, the conversation was interesting, and the company was great. It was a dinner celebration for my Poppop’s 87th birthday.
It was spur of the moment. Getting everyone in the family together is hard. So, I kept it simple and just invited my grandparents. At dinner my Poppop pulled out his own cheese. Yes, his very own Locatelli. Mine wasn’t good enough. He got his from the House of Cheese in South Philly in the Italian Market. Well, one could still call it that, but there are only a few good stores left. Just a little authenticity along the fish, fruit, and Japanese fan filled sidewalks.
He joked that my cheese was not as good. Not as sharp and tasty as his. I laughed and let it go because whatever makes him happy makes me happy. He’s probably right anyway.
We shared stories about my great grandparents. Poppop’s father froze to death out on the family farm. Nobody knew he was out there for a couple of days. He must have hit his head in a bad fall. He was only seventy-five. Nobody should die like that.
“He was strong as an ox.” Poppop said.
“He was a gentle giant.” Nana chimed in.
His mother lived till she was ninety-six. A long life for sure, but beat by her older sister who made it to the ripe old age of one hundred and one.
And, my great grandmother's healthy diet consisted of killing the pigs and draining the blood. You know what she did with that blood? She fried it and ate it.
“I’ve never heard of such a thing, that’s gross!” I shouted!!!!
But, she did. They all did. It was different times. But, they lived long. Who says pork is bad for you?
I think I have some good genes. Here’s for hoping. Oh, and I won’t be eating any blood, or killing any chickens in my backyard.
Dinner served! The plates were hitting the table and the forks were in hand. The family history class would have to resume in a little while.
After Poppop sprinkled on his beloved grated magic, we all sat in silence. That’s a good sign when everyone is eating and not talking. At least for the cook! In this case, that was me. I haven’t been making spaghetti and meatballs for sixty some years like Nana but I did well and got the thumbs up. Mission completed.
After we ate we were onto the desert. Cannoli’s! That put a smile on everyone’s face. Halfway through desert I realized that I forgot a cake and forgot to sing “Happy Birthday” to my lovely guest of honor! I had no time to leave and come back so I rummaged through my kitchen junk drawer and found some candles! Voila! I stuck one in my Poppop’s half eaten cannoli and we sang Happy Birthday in harmony!
“Make a wish, Pop!” I shouted.
“I wish for one more year.” He said.
"You better wish for breaking the family record and hitting 102 because I'm not even close to done with you yet." I declared.
I felt my eyes well up with tears. Here sits the man that always bought me chocolate treats, yelled at me to let up on my lead foot, and poked fun at me (in a loving way) my entire life. And, he’s wishing for just one more year?
While he was wishing…I was praying.
