A Bronx Tale

For those of you who have been with me from the beginning, you know that in my family there are no shortages of bizarre stories to be heard, and always, it seems, from my dad.  All along I've peppered you with Jillisms and things that can only happen to Jill.  I don't know why it never occurred to me that this was an inherited disorder!  Holy crap, she inherited it from Dad and I never put two and two together.  Maybe I'm not the smart sister after all.

A couple of days ago my parents came over for a visit and Dad got into one of his storytelling modes.  I told him I was whipping out my camera so I could get this online for posterity and that's exactly what I did.  I'm not quite sure Dad heard the getting this online part though, because when Jimmy mentioned to him later that he'd now be famous smeared across the internet, he kinda- sorta threatened to kill me.  But that can't be right.  I mean, he's my Dad.  He'll be happy that I revere him enough to share him with my hundreds six readers.  Right?

The story I have for you today is one of my favorites.  I've been hearing it on and off since childhood and my mother swears it's the truth, so it must be.  Also, each story that my father tells never deviates from the original, so they must all be true.  Right?

I guess he feels it's time to share these stories with his grandchildren.  Check out Mikayla as she stuffs her face with salad while listening with rapt interest.



I give to you, A Bronx Tale.

Here's what's on my mind tonight.  At what age do we think it's okay to lose our parents?  Here I am, nearly 38 and the very thought of losing either Mom or Dad gives me chills up my spine.  I  mean I literally cannot imagine my life with them not in it.  I may only see them about once a month, but I cherish each and every minute with them, whether we're arguing over the color they painted their house (I think it's atrocious and they love it) or laughing over their crazy neighbor calling the cops on them because their hot tub makes too much noise... It doesn't matter what we're doing, I just love to be WITH them.  Sometimes Mom and I will just sit out on their back porch (what my father calls the Smokatorium) watching HGTV, or TLC's What Not To Wear and we barely talk.  Other times, you can't shut us up.  Mom wants to know if my sex life has improved, I want to know when she's going to let her hair grow out a bit.  This is about how our conversations go.

Then there's Dad.  Talk about a character!  Born and raised "the" Bronx, NY and standing at a petite 5' 5", he looks a lot like Danny DeVito from that wonderful, classic show, Taxi.  He's loud, he's obnoxious and isn't the least bit affectionate, but there's something so innately lovable about him all the same.  The stories he tells are enough to make you wet your pants!  Like the time when he was a young teenager and his father sent him up a tree to trim some branches with a saw.  Hack hack hack, back and forth the saw went, until yes!  He was almost through the fat branch!  But... wait!  Oh no!  He was SITTING on the branch he was sawing!  Oops, too late!  He and the branch went crashing to the ground.  Did he get sympathy from his father and grandfather who had witnessed it?  No!  His grandfather gave him a beating for being so stupid!  Sounds kind of sad now that I put it in words, but to hear my father tell it you'd fall off your chair laughing.

Or how about the one about the lady he worked with who always wore a turban on her head?  One day he finally asked her why she always wore one and she told him it's because her ears are exceptionally long.  Dad tells it something like this: "Her earlobes were so long that they nearly touched her shoulders, and each day she had to curl them up into a spiral and hide them under the turban!"  And he would say this with the straightest face, and to this day swears the story is true.

So that's just a little taste of what my Dad is like.  I guess most of this is on my mind because we just recently found out that he has prostate cancer.  The prognosis is good, in that it's only in a small part of the prostate, and thank God, it has not spread, but just the word CANCER is daunting, isn't it?  He will be starting radiation treatment in the following weeks, and I can only hope that his body won't react badly to it, and that the radiation will do its job to make my father cancer-free.  Anyone out there in blogland that believes in God, please say a prayer for my family.  Every little bit helps, I believe.

Until next time, Justine :o )