Sunday, November 29, 2009
Remembering My Father! by Richard Chizzonite September 2006 How easy this is, but how difficult at the same time to find the words; to make the words convey the pictures that I see of a son�s life with his father. I want to share some personal thoughts and remembrances about my father that may not be so much an expression of his whole life, but for me personally illustrate the man and his impact on my life. I will try to convey this impact through my many memories of him: flashes of pictures from different times in our life. These pictures refresh me as I remember him and remind me of the richness of my life from childhood to today. I have pictures of: Putting up a Christmas tree with him in the Jefferson Street apartment above Grandpa Lamanna�s store. Ice skating with him on a home-make rink behind Petras� house on Jefferson Street. Crushing grapes in the old garage behind the Casler Street house in preparation for making wine. Digging holes for the cement feet anchors of the swing-set in the backyard of that same house. Having dinner around the blue porcelainized dining table at the Casler street house. My father at the head of the table, assuming his place and role as the stereotypic stern Italian father. Asking for my very own BB gun, but receiving a single shot 22 rifle for my 9th birthday. I could not use it until I memorized and could recite the 10 rules of gun safety and handling. No immediate gratification with this present. Discipline and work for rewards, those were his hallmarks. I remember a 3 speed red Schwinn bicycle with middle weight tires and hand brakes that arrived for another, later, birthday: what a nerdy bike I thought. Why not a Rollfast bike with the big fat tires and pedal brakes, like all of my friends rode? But you know what? I came to love that bike. It took me everywhere. It even took me to Perry�s farm at the top of Fall Hill to work during that summer when I was 13. From Monroe Street, down Furnace Street, over the Hansen Street bridge and all the way up Paradise Hill and then the challenge, Fall Hill. Can you imagine that hill climb (and then the return)! Those rides every day made me a strong athlete and taught me the discipline that would be necessary for my other parts of life. All because of a nerdy bike my Father bought me when I wanted something else. And all because, there was no other choice in my Father�s eyes but to climb that hill every morning for me to get to work and return the same way every evening to get home. I remember many fall Sundays shooting clays at Petras� farm with Dad and his friends: clear, cool and sunny mornings. I remember the sounds; the spring of the clays, the guns, the people, the ambiance and my feelings. It was a great experience for a teenager with his father. It showed me in one small way: friendship and its return to you. I remember my football games in high school. Dad on the side-lines holding the yard chain and yelling encouragement. There are pictures of us in the high school year book walking, at the end of half-time, from the bus in Ilion back to the field. I can see it in our faces; another loss. He was always there; helping me through 4 years of losses and a lot of pain and injuries. I only realized later when my own children started to play sports, how difficult this must have been for him to watch every Sat.; all the losses and all the pain for seemingly nothing. I have a hard time watching my own children play when they lose; what must it have been like for him. His dedication taught me that the important thing is to be there, win or lose, offering support and words of comfort. I remember his insistence that I excel in high school and go to college. There never was any other choice for him or me. I was going to go. His insistence, demands and encouragement were non-negotiable. Where would I be today without his firm and very stern hand pushing me during all those years before college. My success today is due in no small part to his push during those years. I remember the tug of wills and the disagreements we had in the years after college as I went forward to make my own life. The 1970�s disagreements; those notorious episodes over my wooden and rubber soled sandals and the venture into being an artist. The tug of wills and disagreements got resolved through eventual acceptance, love and tolerance for my choices in life. Although, to be honest, my father�s acceptance was in no small way tied to completion of graduate school and moving onto a career in biomedical research. I remember all the times, during all the years since graduate school, his help with my house projects. The move from Chicago to NYC in a little U-Haul truck. The kitchen that got completed and the screened porch that got built with his direction and muscle power at the Kent house. The sadness and difficulty I had when the screen porch was torn down to make way for a large expansion of house. But he did not falter. At 74, he pitched right in to help me finish and install all the trim in that second new house. In my mind, I will always have the pictures of us together, working side by side on the interior doors, installing the trim and putting those finishing touches on the woodwork. I miss and will continue to miss the many house projects that always renewed the bond between us. And as the most cherished memories, I will always remember his love and nurturing of my children. The joking and easy way he had with them, whether in Kent during my parent�s visits or in Little Falls when Cris and Sunnie spent weeks at a time with them. They remember and continue to comment on his joking, smiles and just overall good nature with them. He was a �great� grandfather and will be remembered by them and me as the classic good-natured Italian grandfather. Although I can only guess at my father dreams that were fulfilled or delayed, one which I surely know first hand, were the dreams for his children. He certainly encouraged me to have the will and desire to live my dreams. To take my dreams and make them a reality by always giving my best and never letting second best be enough. I love my father and I will always miss him in the days and years to come.