BLOG NUMBER 85; THE YOUNG ITALIAN, CHAPTER 5; JUNE 21,2012

THE YOUNG ITALIAN

CHAPTER 5

Life at 368 Spring Garden Ave became varied and exciting. There was no back room for banishment.  There were new activities for me to enjoy with friends and Cristina's friends. I had access to a car. Pere Gere had mellowed somewhat and bought a B&W TV for the family in the basement recreation room (complete with a cantina and terrazzo flooring). He finished the housing project in Pickering and I was no longer required to work there. The drug store deliveries had been replaced by a part time job at Loblaws on Wednesdays and Fridays after school and Saturdays until 6 PM. This allowed for free time Saturdays after supper and all day Sunday after Mass. Angie had more leisure time to dote on her kids. She would cook great meals; put up preserves of tomato sauce and antipasto and insist on watching her favorite TV shows: 'I Love Lucy' , 'The Ed Sullivan Show', and Sid Ceasar's 'Your Show of Shows'. 

My parents' friends came every Friday night for games of Euchre. The games were filled with Italian swearing and broken-English idioms. Cheating was rampant; the accusations loud and somewhat humorous. There were secret words and gestures that gave a set of partners crucial knowledge about the hand being played. Most of these were easily recognized by the opponents and immediately challenged. "You cheata....Imma no cheata, you cheata! Ma va fa Napoli!"

Sunday after Mass was always reserved for BBQs and games of Bocce (more arguing and cussing) in the section of back yard that had not been turned into gardens or orchards. Crowds of 30 were not uncommon on Sundays at our house.

One Sunday at Mass, Father Egbert the Passionist Pastor of St Gabriel's Church made a plea for more altar boys. Angie came to the rescue. I was recruited, enrolled and committed. Four or five of the neighbourhood gang were also recruited. Reggie was not as he was a non-catholic. 'Saint Gabe's' as it came to be known was built in 1951 and was an important part of my life. I could not find a picture of the original building but it was impressive. Sadly, today, the original church has been rebuilt and replaced by someone's idea of a good design. The architect was a Canadian trained in 'Eco-theology'. Need I say more! 

The new St Gabriel's. How ugly is that!

Some changes occurred during my grade 12 and 13 years in high school. To my great delight, Angie and Pere Gere had begun to travel. Destinations included annual fall trips to Italy and winter sojourns to Florida and Arizona. Whenever they were away  my sister Cynth and her family moved into the house to look after things. She was a great comfort and allowed me to run loose. I signed up for football again and was encouraged to go to parties. I even held a few myself. I split with my long time girl friend and met Ann Marie, who was to become the love of my life. 

A MELLOWED PERE GERE:

1. The Football Episode

The front lawn was dad's pride and joy. The only time I was allowed to set foot on it was while pushing a mower in front of me. One day, after supper, while we were waiting for Reggie to show up so that we could pick teams and head to the field, an impromptu game broke out on our driveway.  It spread inevitably to the front lawn. Remembering the cherished greenery, I turned to kick off my shoes. The first careless kick sent the footwear hurtling towards the  glass storm door. It shattered the glass just as Gerardo arrived to open it from the inside. He stood there for a moment, frozen in time. I turned to seek support from my friends but they had scattered and were nowhere to be seen. I awaited the impending doom. Dad recovered; looked at me and closed what was left of the door. Mom appeared; tossed me my shoe and ordered me to get lost. I took off running to the field. My friends had gathered there and were quite surprised to see me alive and well. On returning home 3 hours later, I discovered that dad had replaced the shattered panel and cleaned up the glass. He never brought up the incident. Mom told me later that Gerardo thought the entire scene was hilarious.  

2. The Golf story

Another unpredictable moment occurred one afternoon while I was waiting for Mike to go golfing. I had begun to practice my chipping on the front lawn taking care not to mar the surface. Dad came home unexpectedly. Uncle Joe accompanied him. I  had nothing to say or do but suffer the consequences. "Ma for Crissakea whatta u do witha those godydamma stupida things? The only thing that came to my mind was in the form of a challenge and designed to preserve my body, "Well you couldn't hit a golf ball". Gerardo, surprisingly, never said a word back. He picked up the 3 wood, grabbed a ball and using the most awkward golf swing ever, proceeded to launch a perfect shot that soared over roof tops 200 feet away. Joe laughed out loud; dad dropped the club and headed for the house while I stood there in amazement waiting to hear the sound of broken glass in the distance.

3. The baseball tale

I had joined a regional ball team in Don Mills and we were playing     for the North York Championship against a team from Bathurst Heights. We were down a run  going into the bottom of the seventh and last inning. There were two outs with runners on second and third. I came to the plate. From somewhere in the stands behind home plate I heard the unmistakeable accent of Pere Gere, "Come on Antony!" Dad had never came to watch me play. Somehow he had found out about the game and brought a friend to watch. With tears in my eyes I finished by striking out. Game over!

4. The Car Experience

Ann Marie's parents owned a cottage on Surgeon Lake in the Kawartha Lakes. We visited the place often on weekends and I became good friends with her brother Brian. Pere Gere noticed a few rust spots on the 'Slusher' car and had it cleaned up and freshly painted. Ann Marie was spending a week with a friend at the cottage. Brian and I were driving up on the Saturday after work. He was directing me on a new and shorter route to Fenelon Falls. One of the roads was part gravel and filled with potholes. I complained just as we hit pavement again. Brian replied that there were no more bumps as we crested a hill. I noticed a railway crossing in the distance and wagered that there was one more. He accepted the bet and I accelerated (well tramped on the gas pedal). Just before we hit the tracks Brian realized he had been duped. Too late! The car became airborne and as we landed on the far side of the crossing the hood sprung up. I don't know how we managed to stay on the road but it happened anyway in spite of my stupidity. The return trip to Toronto with a crushed hood was uneventful; however, after dropping Brian off at his home, I backed into  a hydrant at the foot of the driveway. Now the driver's side door matched the crushed appearance of the hood. On arriving home later that Sunday, I parked the car in the drive; snuck into the house; used the bathroom and went to bed. My plan was to get up early and head to school before Pere Gere could murder me. This would give me some time to make up a plausible story. On returning home Jonny met me at the corner and told me of dad's fury. The day before, Pere Gere had arranged to trade in the 'slusher' and had assured the salesman that the Chrysler "wasina perfeca condish." It was supposed to be a surprise for my birthday. The surprise was certainly not mine! Again, Gerardo never mentioned the issue and tossed me the keys to a new Hillman. I nicknamed the car 'Harry'.  

That summer I began a new job for a construction company owned by a family friend; Cristina was attending the Shaw School of Business, having declined Pere Gere's offer to put her through law school; Jonny got married; my Uncle Tony passed away and I started to smoke cigarettes. The job entailed driving an old army tanker to various parts of the city to fuel up the company's equipment on site.  The truck had  bench seats, no shock absorbers or directional signals, a wooden steering wheel and no side windows, The front wheels shimmied and steering required brute force and quick reflexes. In some cases,  it was necessary to cross wide fields in order to get to the bulldozer or backhoe needing fuel.  Several times my left elbow would be smashed against the door; my head would bounce off the metal roof of the cab and my ass would be slammed into the hard wooden seat. The labourers and foreman would all stop, watch and guffaw as I trucked over the bumps.

A CLOSE REPLICA OF THE FUEL TRUCK

On one trip to downtown Toronto to fuel the equipment working on the Gardner Expressway, I was pulled over by a police constable who demanded to know, "what the hell are you doing with that piece of junk on Jarvis Street". All I could manage was a shrug of the shoulders. The cop proceeded to remove the licence plates and confiscate the ignition key. At that point I would have gladly traded the experience for one of Gerardo's kicks in the ass.

My appreciation of the opposite sex morphed from the early crushes on Cristina's friends to a full fledged series of new experiences. It was, for me, a time of many new adventures and much trial and error learning. One of Cristina's friends had taught me how to kiss a girl properly. Needless to say, I was an eager student. There were a few lessons where I pretended to not 'get it'. Dating became an important pastime and replaced the earlier version of weekend pick up games. Parties became more frequent and more intense. Alcohol and drugs were never a part of the scene. Slow dancing and jiving to the music of Elvis, Buddy Holly, The Platters and Laverne Baker, to name a few, were enough to provide hours of fun and companionship. 

In grade 13, I was elected president of St Gabriel's CYO. We held dances in the church basement every Sunday night and they became well-attended affairs by Catholic teens from many parts of Toronto. It was at one of these dances that I met and became involved in a relationship with, the sister of a high school friend. It was to last for a year and a half. Many nights were spent at her house having dinner with her family. They were wonderful people and treated me with much kindness. 

At school we were approaching the time of Provincial High school examinations. In order to obtain a graduation certificate it was necessary to complete 9 credits. At Del,  the requisites were Algebra, Geometry, Trigonometry, Chemistry, Physics, English Literature, English Grammar, French and History. Successful performance in these fields was enough to qualify for acceptance into any Province of Ontario University. I had been instructed by Brother Michael Sr. to fill out applications for the U of Toronto and U of Western Ontario. In the Provincial exams, I earned 9 credits with an average of 64 percent. My grades qualified for the U of Western but were not high enough for admittance to the U of Toronto.

Bummer! Pere Gere was furious with me and ordered that I was to return to High School to improve my grades. Of course his direction was delivered with an accompanying kick in the ass. He wanted a Toronto lawyer in his family and that's what I was destined to become, sore ass and all.

The following summer brought great relief, a touch of sadness and some new found joy. I was accepted into the General Arts program at the University of Toronto. Cristina left home to enrol in a nursing program in British Columbia. While this left me in sole control of the car, I would miss my sister and good friend. On the job front, I was promoted from fuel man to sub-foreman on a major project that consisted of installing sewer and water main facilities in a suburban housing development. The pay was $2.50 per hour and provided me a source of funds with which to socialize. I was to act as a liaison  between the foreman, who spoke only Italian, and the city inspector. Another job description was to record the company's daily progress and track the machine hours for the project. If supplies and materials were required, I was responsible for seeing that they arrived on site and on time. On day one of the project, in drove Massimo with a brand new fuel tanker truck. He enjoyed listening and laughing at the recounting of my old truck episodes. He would visit my portable field office on each trip to the site. His favourite expression on entry was" Hey whatta u doon here? Fuckin-tha-roun?"

My first year at Uof T was a brand new world. I had never enjoyed such freedom. It was a time of interfaculty football, lacrosse, hockey, contract bridge, tea dances, pubs and 10 cent draft beer; interspersed with lectures and tutorials. I avoided the latter with great skill. 

During the second year, three friends and I formed a group called 'The Burton Four'. We seldom practiced but impromptu sessions always sprang up. We fancied ourselves the next Canadian folk singing stars and even played a few gigs.

Tragedy struck our family. I returned from a date with Ann Marie to discover that my dear mother had suffered a burst aneurism and had been rushed to the hospital. I went to visit her the following morning and remember seeing that she looked fine. I will never forget her final words to me, " I have to leave you and your dad alone now. The twelve apostles came to my bed last night and told me it was time to leave. I love you so much!".** I protested that she looked fine and would be alright; however, that day she lapsed into a coma and remained that way for eight long years. 

** translated from broken English.

QUESTION:

How much insight do people have at certain moments of truth in their lives?

QUOTE OF THE WEEK:

“I don't want my life to be defined by what is etched on a tombstone. I want it to be defined in what is etched in the lives and hearts of those I've touched.” -Steve Maraboli, Life, the Truth and Being Free

CLIPS OF THE WEEK: