My favorite person

Today it was easy to choose a subject for the topic.  My grandfather, Carlo Francis Acerbi is and will always be my very favorite person.  He grew up in Kenosha and lived here his whole life.  In the above photo he was fourteen years old.  I consider my grandfather to be my primary caregiver in my life.  He was always there for me and showed me what love is through the example of his life and how he treated others.  Gramps filled my heart with stories of his life, he was able to make things seem golden and warm all the time.  His parents were from Italy, and his father Pietro ( we called him Nonnu) first emigrated to Argentina but apparently didn't like it there because he went back to Italy and got his wife and brought her to America.  Her name was Ancilla, and I am named after her.  She was Nonna.  Nonno died when I was four years old, I never met Nonna.  Grandpa talked about them all the time and had dreams about them that he called visits.  He believed they watched over him, talked to him while he slept.  He also believed in ghosts and that he would dream what horses to bet on at the track.

Gramps and his father, ^ Pietro Acerbi.  Gramps said although Nonnu was a carpenter, he spoke like an educated man and didn't have a heavy Italian accent.  He had a vaguely European accent, which Gramps was proud of.  It was clear that my family was sophisticated, not low class like some of those immigrants.  Or that was the impression.

 This photo ^ is of my grandfather and his brother Mario.  Gramps was the oldest of three boys.  There was an older boy named Guilio who died at the age of fourteen.  He had been climbing on an abandoned building and fell.  Gramps said it took him a couple of weeks to die from his injuries.  He also had a sister who died in infancy.  Grandpa was in a band when he was young, he played the banjo and I have his banjo, which I had restored. One story he told is that his first job was writing numbers on the board with a piece of chalk for a bookie.  He also used to live near the train depot and would run over with other neighborhood kids when a freight train arrived and help unload the trains for a few pennies.  One time he unloaded huge bunches of bananas and there was a giant spider on his bunch, but it was very sluggish because it was cold!  Gramps did not attend or complete high school; he dropped out after ninth grade to work.  He ended up being the head of the Street Department for the city, and retired as a city employee.  Gramps was a great schmoozer and natural all around good guy.

Grandpa was married twice.  His first wife was named Sophie but liked to be called Pat, and they had four kids.  His second wife, Edith, is my grandmother.  They  had two children together.  They met during World War Two working in a factory making airplane parts.  He was separated from his first wife but not divorced when they met, and Grandma felt she was not accepted by his kids because of that.  They blamed her for the divorce.  Grandpa didn't seem bothered by any of that.  His youngest son with Pat, my Uncle Bobby, lived with him and Grandma.  Family stories say that Pat either drank too much to take care of Bobby or just didn't want to raise him.  Grandpa told me Gram used to hit Bobby, so one time he hit her.  I asked, "What did she do?"  He said she took the kids and went to her dad's house and left him, "Which she should have done!"  And she said she would not come back unless he promised to never do it again.  So he made her promise to never hit Bobby again.  I don't know if she did, but Uncle Bobby really dislikes my Grandma still.  I could write a whole book about her life of childhood abuse, but that is another story.

Because he was divorced, he was not allowed to take communion at church until his first wife died.  Gramps was Catholic and took it seriously.  My boyfriend Corydon took him to church and breakfast every Sunday while we lived with them.  When Corydon and I shared a house with Gramps and Gram, Grandpa would say to me, "What kind of a guy would live with a woman and not ask to marry her?  Is he a good guy or not?"  I replied, "Grandpa, maybe Corydon begs me to marry him every day and I say no!"  Then he would say, "WHAT?!!?  What's the matter with you?  He is a good guy, you are not going to do better than him!"  

Grandpa was also a HUGE flirt, especially with waitresses.  I felt I could tell him or ask him anything.  Once I asked him if he ever cheated on Grandma.  He looked at me out of the sides of his eyes and said, "I'm not telling you.  You'll snitch!"  

This picture ^ is of Grandpa and my youngest sister, Amanda.  This look on his face is how he looked at all of us.  He adored every one of his grandchildren, most especially the girls.  He had nicknames for each of us, and would sometimes sprinkle Italian words into conversations.  I am not ashamed to say that I was his favorite.  He called me "Strunsetta Petuletta" which I am sure is a made up phrase loosely based on Italian meaning "petulant little shit".  He called my sister Sara "Testa Rosa" because she has red hair, and he called Amanda "Cockoo Pulackoo" which I think means nothing except "I love and adore you" in his own language.  

Grandpa had a very goofy sense of humor.  We would spend weekends at he and Gram's house and get McDonald's, which was a huge treat, watch cartoons together and he would laugh and laugh.  He loved Tom and Jerry, the Three Stooges, and any old movies and television shows.  Saturday nights we watched The Love Boat and Fantasy Island, the nightly news, and then he let me stay up to watch The Late Show.  I was allowed to have canned pears or peaches canned in syrup for dessert, or maybe fruit cocktail.  Of course I was allowed to pick out the cherries for myself.  The Late Show was often old horror movies.  Bela Lugosi was our absolute favorite, but we also loved Claude Rains and Lon Chaney, Jr.  Abbot and Costello would make us laugh until our sides ached, especially when they were IN THE HORROR MOVIES TOO!  That was the best possible mash up imaginable.  

He was exceedingly generous, had candy and Hubba Bubba in his glove compartment at all times, and always always took my side.  I remember one time going to K-mart with him and promising myself I would NOT ask him to buy anything and I would not allow him to buy me anything.  Every time we went somewhere he always bought me a little something and I wasn't sure I deserved all that.  I browsed away from him, looking at albums and music that I liked, checking out the hats and shoes.  He asked me if I wanted anything and I said no.  We left the store together and I noticed that he had a bag in his hands. In the car, he showed me a Dr. Demento tape I had been looking at AND a pair of gloves I had tried on!  He snuck behind me and bought me things anyway!  

^ This is Gramps after he had a stroke.  He was eighty-four and we were living downstairs from him and Grandma when it happened.  It was the middle of the night, and grandma called on the phone, was very upset and said that Grandpa had fallen out of bed and she couldn't get him back up.  We went upstairs and he was on the floor, couldn't talk, and could not move. He was awake and trying to talk.  We called 911 and picked him up and put him on the bed.  Why that was important, I do not know.  I rode in the ambulance and Corydon drove Grandma to the hospital.  He had brain surgery and was in a coma for several days before he woke up.  He still had his sweet disposition, but got wild ideas that had to be satisfied, like going into the basement or getting down on the floor.  He would ask and ask and then when we finally gave in and helped him to the basement or onto the floor, he seemed confused as to why he wanted it and just wanted to sit in his chair. He knew all of us, but just wasn't physically strong and his cognitive abilities were decimated.  

Taking care of him took much patience.  Grandma did a wonderful job, with our help of course.  He had the stroke on March 7 and died on June 1.  It seemed like years, not three months, and it was a relief when he died.  

This last photo is my favorite.  Grandpa came over to our house nearly every day.  He would come in the back door without knocking, open the kitchen door with just this look.  He would whistle to let us know he was there, and when he saw me he would smile so sweetly and say, "Hi boo!  Come and give your grandpa a smooch!"  I remember his smell, the feel of his body in my arms when I hugged him, how it felt to snuggle next to him on the couch and hold his hand.  He never had a bad word to say about anyone and was the sweetest man I have been blessed to know.