|Home | Books | About | Blog ||
"Legacy of Grandpa's Grapevine"
"I can't recall the first memory I have of my Grandpa Frank, but I can recall the many Sundays at his home just listening to him speak. He told of stories of coming to America with ten dollars in his pocket and his best girl by his side. When he laughed, you could see his stained teeth from all those cigars he smoked since the age of twelve. His face was worn from working outside at the trolley yards and his hands had calluses and scars.
"Grandpa Frank was a slim man with wavy white hair. I'm sure, in his youth, he must have been an attractive man, but to me he was just my Grandpa Frank. An old man who always had time to sit with me and listen to my worries, hopes and insecurities. Whether I was eight years old or sixteen years old, I could always depend on Grandpa Frank for a listening ear. He was never hard to find either. From my house to his, it was a quick bike ride and all down hill too! Pass the town bank, cross the street at the market, turn left across the tracks, and you entered the Italian side of town.
"Grandpa Frank and Grandma Marie moved into the two story white house after they left Brooklyn. Grandpa said the Italian section was called Goat's Island, because so many of the families had goats in their yards. I don't remember Grandpa Frank having goats -- I guess he got tired of taking care of them. There was one thing he never got tired of caring for, and that was his grapevine." (Prologue)