My Grandfather

I never met my grandfather, but I wish I did.  He was called home long before I was born.  All I know about my grandfather are the stories shared by my family.  He was a simple man.

Domenico Vencencio Petronio was born  in a rural mountainous Italian village in 1889.    He learned the values of a simple life based on faith, love, and family.    My grandfather was born before the Wright brothers flew at Kitti Hawk.

My grandfather immigrated to the United States through Ellis Island.   I can only imagine his thoughts when he witnessed Lady Liberty for the first time.  He was just one of thousands of simple men looking for a better life in America.

My grandfather was naturalized as a United States citizen and sent to boot camp.   Within six weeks, he was back on a boat heading to France as part of the Untitled States Army.   A simple man sent to serve his new country as a World War I solider.   He was proud to be an American citizen and veteran.

My grandfather was a simple man who believed in the grace of God.   He was one of a faithful group of Italian immigrants that formed the Our Lady of Miracles Catholic Church.   Once many years ago,  the Virgin Mary appeared and saved my Grandfather’s village.   My grandfather believed with all his heart that God was good.

My grandfather was a generous man.   Long before it fashionable to feed the homeless, my grandfather would bring “hobos” home for a hot meal.    He was working man making a meager depression era wage, but each month he would send money back to his family in the old country.  He made a life by what he gave.

My grandfather was a provider.   My Aunt Genny and my mom shared a few weeks ago that they were poor as children, but that they were the lucky ones.   They always had plenty to eat and clothes to wear.  They had a house to call a home.   My grandfather loved and provided for his family.

If the time space continuum would allow me a moment to ask my grandfather one question,  I would ask, " How do you want to be remembered?"   I close my eyes see my grandfather sitting on his West 41^st front porch.   He takes off his wire rim glasses as his eyes start to fog.   He wipes his eyes with a handkerchief and says,  "I want to be remembered as a man who loved his wife."

My grandfather and my grandmother loved each other absolutely.    She cared for him and he cared for her.   My grandmother lived and loved her children and grandchildren for another thirty years after my grandfather was called home.    She missed her husband as evident in her last words to me before whe passed on.    She lay in her bed trying to comfort my sadness and simply said “I am ready to go.  I will see Dominic soon.” My grandparents' love was eternal.   

If I had a time machine,  I would take it back to meet my Grandfather.   I would help him tend his garden.   I would sit next to him in church.   Enjoying a Sunday dinner with him, I would smile as we ate homemade noodles and sauce made by grandmother and feel the warmth of their love. 

My grandfather was a simple man.  He served his country.  He believed in God.  He provided for his family.    He  loved his wife    I am proud to be his grandson.