[4X4]

I just told a little story in the smoking thread about how my maternal grandfather ended up dying less than 50 km from where he was born. It inspired me to keep slacking off for awhile and tell another story about my paternal grandfather that some of you might enjoy reading.

Some of you know that I had the pleasure of living in Rome for a year, (basically all of 2006). While I was there, one of the most amazing things happened to me (more specifically, my father). I don't think it'll ever be topped within my family.

For the record, I really enjoy peoples' stories, so I hope some of you get out your writing irons and tell me some stories in return. I think my messageboard addiction is based on the fact that I just love hearing travel stories and stories in general (I'm an old man's best friend - an audience).


So here's my cool story:
My father was born in Italy in 1947 in a tiny mountain village called Vagli Sotto. the population of this town was about 200 people at the time they decided to move to Belgium and then ultimately to Canada. My father was 9 years old when they left Italy.
My grandfather packed up his wife and three sons (two of which are twins) and embarked on a mission to find greener pastures. Italy was in a really crappy state after WWII and good paying work was extremely difficult to find, especially if, like my grandfather, you had a grade 3 education.

My grandfather died in 1994 and my grandmother in 1996. My grandfather's funeral was, by far, the most attended funeral I've ever been to. He was very well liked. I mention that because it illustrates to me that when you really love someone, you never forget them. And neither did the little old ladies in Vagli Sotto.

In may of '06, my dad and sister came to visit me in Rome. While they were there, we rented a car and drove to Vagli Sotto. Watching my dad reminisce about the town that was his entire world as a youngster was pretty cool. He pointed out where he lived and where my grandfather was born, likewise my grandmother. The church that they got married in and attended. Everything. And one less than happy landmark, his little sister's grave.

As we were walking out of the cemetery, my dad off in la-la land remembering so much stuff, we walked past a house that had two of the oldest ladies I've ever seen, sitting on the front porch in their rocking chairs. I remember thinking "what an awesomely authentic image".
well, these little old ladies recognized my father. They were trying to get our attention by (feebly) hollaring "Baci". Baci was a nickname bestowed upon my grandparents as it is a combination of their two last names.

Well, my father had no idea who these people were, but they sure knew him. And they wanted to know everything about the family and most of all, hear about their old friends, my grandparents.

I'm telling you that I've never felt so emotional watching the three of them speak. My italian was very poor at the time, so I understood almost none of it.
When my dad told them that my grandparents were dead, they both started crying. One of them asked my dad if she could kiss my sister so that she could take it to my grandmother's grave here in canada.

It was totally unbelievable. The three of them talked for over an hour, but the time slipped by so quick it felt like 5 minutes.
Afterward, my dad just simply could not stop talking about all the stuff they told him about when he was a kid.
I suppose he could have heard the same stuff from his parents before they died, but you all know how you just never seem to appreciate that kind of thing until it's too late. Well, my dad got one of the most amazing gifts that day.

It may sound morbid, but I already know that that story will be part of the eulogy that I will, one sad day, have to deliver at my dad's funeral. It was probably the happiest I have ever seen him in my life.