No One Messed With His Grandkids

 And . . . no one messed with his grandkids.

STORY: During the time Pop had the pizza shop, we (Pop's grandkids) received a threat from a customer he refused to serve, when the man came in drunk. Every morning, Pop would walk us to school and came back in the afternoon to walk us home, carrying either his double-barrel shotgun, that put food on our table, or the two handle pizza blade that resembled a square machete - a very large one. This was open carry before open carry in a state that does not have that law. Pop really didn't care. In our neighborhood, word spread through stunned parents and children alike, the Kenner kids had a guardian angel. 

 

STORY: In previous text, I mentioned that Mother could never spank my brother; everything she tried backfired by breaking. Pop had an issue with my brother and told Jerry to go to the yard to find a switch so Pop could spank him with it. When seven-year-old Jerry drug a very large tree limb to the door, Pop laughed so hard that my brother got a reprieve.

 

 

 

On holidays that Mother either worked or socialized with friends, we would stay up late and have a family party. New Year's Eve and Fourth of July were great times for this. Pop would play the spoons and we would dance. He taught us old folk songs like "The Ol' Oaken Bucket" and "The Erie Canal". There was always a treat that he acquired with some change he managed to save from grocery money; a soda, chips or candy.

 

When we were younger, he was constantly on us to pick up our toys. He particularly hated the ones left on the stairs. We turned a deaf ear, as children do. Sometimes it was just that we forgot. Sometimes, it was just being lazy. We got home from school one particular afternoon to find our toys in the yard and it was raining. "Leave 'em there", he said and that was all that was ever said about the matter. The rain ruined the toys and we never left them underfoot again. Period.

 

He preferred psychology to physical discipline whenever possible and it worked. Children need guidelines in order to feel secure. Indeed, decades later, I used the same psychology on a couple step children at the time. Actions do speak louder than words.

 

When we got sick and couldn't sleep, we knew we could wake Pop and he would sit with us in the kitchen over a glass of juice or tea to pass the time, rather than suffer alone. "Don't wake your mother. She has to get up for work." Many nights were spent at the kitchen table listening to his stories of childhood. Sometimes, he would have a candy bar stashed away just for this occasion.

* This is what our Lord does. When you spend time with Him, it is always a treat.

 

This time was mainly for my sister and me. Pop and my brother had difficulty relating as Jerry got older. Jerry had trouble coming to terms with not having a father. My brother, and his dog, spent his adolescent years in his room with model cars and motorcycle magazines. He didn't get along in school and became solitary until he quit at sixteen. Mother agreed, as long as he got a job. He did - and bought a motorcycle. At seventeen, she signed the permit papers for him to join the Marines.

 

Continued . . .

* This continuing story begins with the post on Dec. 30, 2024

P.S. About Mother

 Not perfect:

She was not perfect and didn't pretend to be. She loved the night life and dancing and I saw her drunk more than once. "Cold milk" she would demand on a morning after. She was a champion at nagging. Even though she had a tough shell, there was that tender heart that got her taken advantage of many times.  

The nagging made me crazy! She was a very clean house keeper. Working long hours meant this chore fell to the oldest girl - me. A few quotes I remember fondly: "You call that dusting?", "I work seven days a week to put food on the table and you won't even run the vacuum." "Just look at the mess in that room. How can you stand it?" (In defense of myself, it was dusted and the bed was made. She had fits over clothes left draped over a chair.) Here is one everybody thinks was so cruel: "I don't have to take this. Your father left and so can I. What would you do then? You're gonna wake up one morning and I just won't be here." I remember waking and tip toeing to her bedroom door to see that she was in her bed. There were times that I thought, "Beat me; just shut up and beat me." But all this nagging got the job done.

 

STORY: In prior text I stated how she only had to shame me but I remember the two "floggings" I did get. I was about eight years old the first time. She had gone off to grocery for bi monthly shopping. Grandfather was taking a nap. May brother and I were in the cellar where laundry was hanging to dry. We were there with a coffee can and matches. My sister wanted to "play" too. We told her she was "too young". We had our little "bon fire" in the coffee can and fled upstairs when we heard Mother coming home. The "baby" was mad at my brother and me for not letting her "play" so she tattled on us. We were sat down on the sofa for the nagging lecture as Mother was boiling out of control from fear of what could have happened. Since I was oldest, I always had main responsibility for everything. When she could not control herself any longer, "Get up to your room, I can't stand looking at you." As I hung my head in shame and passed her, she lit into me like a flock of birds; slapping and scratching with those tallon-like nails of hers. It was fear for our safety that brought this out in her. Next time, I was about ten years old. My sister and I were arguing, she called me a bad word and turned her back to run. I lashed out and caught her in the middle of the back with the bottom of my palm. She began gasping for breath and turning an unnatural color, as I just stood there with my mouth open in shock. Mother came around the corner "What the h___ is going on?" (Oh yeah, Mother could swear, too.) "She called ma a b____." (Kids swear when no one is listening.) She took one look at my sister and let loose that flock of birds all the way to the stairway as I ascended to my room.

 

 I love remembering these stories. Mother was human and didn't pretend otherwise. The only apologies I remember was during the time of depressed confusion brought on by menopause. She did not apologize to her children. 

 

 

 

Grandfather used to say, "She lets her heart rule her head." She took in stray kids that my brother and sister would bring home. She got them jobs and gave them a place to sleep. Sometimes it worked out and sometimes she had to turn them out again for stealing or lying. She always had a soft spot for our father. My step-mother had the means to go across state lines and get him to court for back child support. The court ruled he had to pay for his first family first. He came to Mother with papers and asked her to sign them relieving him of any back or future support for his three children. She put the proposal to us, "He hasn't ever given us any support and we manage. He surely can't pay if they put him in jail" was her reasoning and we agreed. She signed the papers. I believe a large part of her decision was because of the love for him she never got over. You can't choose who your heart will love.

 

When I was around forty years old, I was living in a small house behind Mother's. She would knock on my door almost daily telling me I needed a break from my drawing board. We would go for ice cream and coffee or sit in her wooded backyard and watch her pet rabbit forage through the clover. On one mild summer afternoon we were sitting with a cold beer and girl talk. Out of the blue, came the story of rape. Many years prior, she had been on a date, drugged and raped. I had a baby brother somewhere that had secretly been put up for adoption at his birth. Oh God, my poor dear mother ! ! ! What a horrific thing for a woman to go through and keep secret all these years. Grandfather had helped her hide it from us kids and Dad's mother with lies. Mother loved her children, hated lies and had some strong moral beliefs. "I couldn't afford another kid. It was all I could do to take care of the three I had." I totally understand and loved her more.

 

To be continued . . .