It’s All How You Look at Things
Contributed by: Ralph Schillace
Mothers give us many gifts, not the least of which is life itself. In addition, my mom gave us many stories from her zany ways and quick mind. I’d like to share just one of them with you.
I grew up in a large, extended Italian-American family. Life rotated around my maternal grand parent’s home at 180 Fifteenth Street on the west side of Buffalo, New York. My mom was the oldest child, with four sisters and one brother. Her youngest sister, Mary, and her family remained in the home with her parents, as was the custom, to care for the parents who were illiterate and barely bilingual (Grandmother was accused of speaking not only broken English, but also broken Italian dialect.) Visits to 180 were frequent and always interesting. Family dynamics dictated protocol: who would contribute to a meal, who would clean up, how long we could stay, how the children must behave, etc. Aunt Mary’s pleasure or displeasure was a major concern since she endured sharing her home with everyone and dealing with the idiosyncrasies of her parents and sibs. It was great fun infused with tension and complicated love.
I lived out of town and assuaged my mother’s unhappiness about that by visiting frequently. A weekend visit would include Mass and then a visit to my father’s grave. One beautiful summer Sunday, we finished our emotional visit to my Dad when my mother asked if we might also visit her parents and her sister who were buried in a separate section of the same sprawling cemetery.
We found a section to search in. The land was hilly, the sun was hot, many mourners were out tending the graves of loved ones. Mom and I walked up and down the hills looking over grave after grave…but with no luck. Mother started to call out, “Mary where are you? Tell us where you are.” Bystanders looked alarmed at this woman calling out to her deceased relatives. Mother persisted unsuccessfully until the heat got to us and I suggested we leave. She agreed and we left.
In a quiet moment on the ride home I had a brainstorm and asked my mother “Why do you think Aunt Mary didn’t answer your prayers and tell you where she was?” Without losing a beat she exclaimed “Well you know. Sometimes Aunt Mary wanted company and sometimes she didn’t. I guess she wasn’t in the mood today for company.”
Mom was sharp. She knew how to make sense out of whatever life gave her. She inspired us to do the same. Thanks mom.
Ralph Schillace, Ph.D. is a author, speaker and Cool Old Guy from Rochester Hills, Michigan. Contact Ralph via email at Schillac@oakland.edu