Big E

If you’ve been paying attention, you’ll know that my dad is crazy. He was born in Italy in 1949, came to America in 1969, married my mom in 1974, and became a dad in 1976. And again in 1980. And one more time in 1982.

And god help us all if that list ever continues.


I’m not sure what made my dad crazy exactly, but it could be a mix of his heritage, his upbringing, and good old fashion love. At least, that’s what my dad claims. He loves us all so much, that his children and their antics are responsible for making him nuts.

My mom would work a few nights a week when we were young. I will never forget the way my dad would sing “We’re Off to See the Wizard” pulling both my sister and I on each arm up the steps on our way to bed. You know how kids sometimes laugh so hard they can’t even control their body and they fall to the ground? THAT’S what would happen to Adriana and I when he would sing that song.

I’ve written before that my dad was quite strict with me, and I wasn’t permitted to do much on my own growing up. I went to ONE high school party where alcohol was served, and when I was caught, I got in trouble. I wasn’t permitted to go down the shore for Memorial Day weekend my senior year of high school with the rest of my class. When I returned home after college I was expected to follow his strict curfew rules that hadn’t really changed much since high school, and it caused a LOT of problems between us. So much so, I moved out when I was 22 and got my own apartment.



Since it’s been quite some time, I think I can say this, which I’ve been holding in for a long time. Dad, when I moved back home after graduation you expected me to be home by midnight on most nights. This in itself was tough because I had just spent four years living in Boston making my own curfew rules. I had graduated with honors and all of my limbs still intact. I thought I had sufficiently proved to everyone that I was a pretty good judge of being my own boss with regards to returning home at night. HOWEVER, what made following the curfew rule so difficult was that Marco was sneaking out of the house every single night and taking the bus to NYC to skateboard and, when I caught him leaving one night, he asked me not to tell you and I promised to keep his secret. So, while I was expected to be home and asleep by midnight, Marco was gathering his quarters and taping his sneakers, or whatever stupid things skaters did, preparing for his night out.


There. I feel better.


The aftermath of me moving out and years and years of strife could possibly have been avoided if I had ratted my brother out. But I didn’t.  Ah, who am I kidding.  I still would have moved out and Marco would have gotten in trouble.  It wasn't worth it.


Anyway, once I moved out, the relationship between my dad and I had its ups and downs. It was a tough few years where I was upset for being kicked out and he was upset for feeling that I abandoned him.


Suffice to say, we had a time.


But time heals, and today, I am proud to say that we have a good relationship. I mean, I still think he’s nuts, and I am sure he thinks I’m a pain in the butt, but we have been through a lot together and we’re in it for the long haul. And now, I’ve got Leah. And it’s important to me for both of them to be in each other’s life.


So, on Sunday, I’m going to spend some time with my dad and show him how much I love him and appreciate him. He’s a good dad and he provided for us in every possible way.

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