Remembering grandpa in A New Chapter

My grandpa has become a bit of a mythological figure in my family. My paternal one at least. I never had a chance to meet my maternal grandpa, he is a bit of a mystery. I actually don’t even know who he is. But that is a tale for another day.

My grandpa is just a classic immigration story. Born in the middle of nowhere, lived through some warfare, and left his country. I have vague memories of him from my childhood. I remember going to the shoe factory he owned and spending time at his office. I remember playing with his supplies and showing him my report card. I think my grandpa only got as far as sixth grade. He would always give us money. He spent a lot of time growing up during World War II so it was his love language. I don’t blame him, back when he was a child..money solved everything. We would always go to the toy store and pick out some toys, usually Transformers or Gi Joes. Ironically, I Found out that my grandpa would give us much more. But my parents kept it for food, savings, doctor visits, etc. Bullshit haha

I guess the conversation came up with my wife while we watched “Darkside of the Ring” last night. She asked me what I thought about Harley Race and I said I wasn’t ok with him being abusive towards his wife. However, we’re judging someone who grew up during the 1940s and didn’t get much love at all. I’m not saying his behavior was ok or acceptable, but it’s hard to judge people from so far away with our modern standards.

I fall into the same issue with my grandpa. He is a hero for our family but I can’t really support everything he did. He was with my grandma and then someone else. My grandma didn’t take any shit from him but he def. was aggressive with his second partner. He was also a bit of a racist, but what can I expect from someone who grew up during the Italian fascist regime? the irony of course being that his complexion was olive.

He owned a restaurant. One time he was bitching about having black customers. My grandma said something among the lines of “where do you think you fucking came from? some shithole town that got bombed due to stupid ideologies and now its full of mobsters.” My grandpa was pissed but I guess that’s why he loved my grandma. She fought back.

It does not really end there tho. I found out about this story 10 years ago.
My grandfather’s second wife cheated on him. She was sleeping with a local mobster in the early 1990s. Mobsters have a lot of that ethical code, specially the more clan-oriented ones from the Italian countryside. The affair kept going. Details are blurry. However, if I remember correctly, her lover was married to a woman from a rival clan. A type of “Game of Thrones” style arrangement if you will.

One time while enjoying private time at a hotel, a guy showed up with a machine gun and unloaded. It was the first murder in that city in ages. It was all over the newspapers and it was seen as a bit of a big deal. I have no idea how my grandpa felt about the whole thing.

Fast-forward to the 2000s when my grandpa died. He was buried on higher ground than his former wife. My grandpa’s brother laughed and said “even in death, he came out on top haha.” Apparently my aunt didn’t take that well and got fucking pissed.

I never got to know my grandpa as an adult. I really wish I had. I would have loved to pick his brain about what it was like being part of World War II and other things. But mostly to know him emotionally.

Back to my original thought, how do I judge a man that was raised under such dire circumstances? that was abusive, judgmental..not judgmental, racist. Here I’m trying to sugarcoat it. Then again, a lot of people are like that today still. At least my grandpa had the excuse that he was born into poverty and got drafted for military service at 16.

Oh well.

See you later space cowboy.