Monday, May 30, 2011
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Papa
Dear Scarlett,
Your great-grandpa, better known as Papa, passed away on Thursday, May 5. I wrote an obituary for him, which contained the kind of things that you can write in a newspaper about someone you loved. But here, I can tell you so much more. I can tell you how Papa used to offer me a quarter to scratch his back (I learned later that inflation meant my younger cousins got a dollar for the same job.) I would sit behind him on the couch in the living room at 140 S Cuyler and scratch his back with the comb he kept in his pocket. He used the comb to tame the hair that rested evenly on either side of his head and nowhere else. For as long as I can remember, Papa had only wisps of hair across the top. Distracted from my mission, I would start combing his two sections of hair, straight up, then together over the top. I would brush them down, long over his ears, and then finally I got them back to a semblance of normalcy. But Papa still had to redo it himself, which I guess is why I never got my quarter.
Papa always served ice cream after dinner. Neapolitan: vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry, and he would scoop the long way, so that you got each flavor, but sometimes we just asked for one flavor. For me, it was either chocolate or strawberry, vanilla being so...vanilla. Papa dipped his scoop into a glass of warm water and the ice cream practically floated out of the container. He was a professional. Literally. Papa worked at and later owned Kay's Sweet Shop on Pulaski in Chicago. After the neighborhood turned too rough to own a business there, he opened up a Baskin Robbins. I later worked in a different Baskin Robbins, to continue the family tradition, but I just ate a bunch of banana splits, gave out too many free cones, and got tendonitis from scooping. I'm not sure I got the ice cream entrepreneurial genes.
Papa always had a dog. When I was a freshman in high school, one of my friend's families had a litter of puppies, and Nana surprised Papa by getting him one. I remember sitting in the kitchen with the little dog, waiting for Papa to come through the door. He named her Murphy, because he had a crush on Candice Bergen and loved the show Murphy Brown. Papa told me that Murphy was his favorite dog, the best one he ever had.
Almost exactly 4 years ago, I rented some audio equipment from StoryCorps, a company that travels all over the US and records people interviewing each other. I brought it over to Papa's to do an interview with him. It took us a while to get our groove, because Papa kept grabbing the microphone and saying things like "They call me Swing and Sway with Teddy Kay!" When he wouldn't give the microphone back to me, I had to remind him how interviews work.
Then he told me some great stories. Playing saxophone in The Jimmy Dale Band and The Gents, with his older brother Ray; coming home after school to clean the house and get dinner ready before his parents came home--a particularly interesting story, since I never actually saw Papa make dinner in my entire life, although he did grill, and I guess that counts; meeting Nana at Kay's Sweet Shop and their first kiss in the apartment above the shop. He didn't ask for her parents permission before he proposed to her. He told me "I think they knew we were for each other." They were married for 63 years.
About Nana, he said "She was a beauty. She reminded me of Linda Darnell, the movie actress."
About parenthood, he said "I thought we would have three." They had eight.
About me, he said "Get some grandchildren going."
It took me a little longer, but eventually Dad and I got married, and we did get you going. And in enough time for Papa to meet you. He came to San Francisco to hold you when you were 3 weeks old, traveled to Lake Archibald with you, and spent your first Christmas with you. His hearing was pretty bad, but I think he may even have heard you say "woof woof." And for a man who loved dogs as much as Papa did, that must have been music to his ears.
Love,
Mom
Your great-grandpa, better known as Papa, passed away on Thursday, May 5. I wrote an obituary for him, which contained the kind of things that you can write in a newspaper about someone you loved. But here, I can tell you so much more. I can tell you how Papa used to offer me a quarter to scratch his back (I learned later that inflation meant my younger cousins got a dollar for the same job.) I would sit behind him on the couch in the living room at 140 S Cuyler and scratch his back with the comb he kept in his pocket. He used the comb to tame the hair that rested evenly on either side of his head and nowhere else. For as long as I can remember, Papa had only wisps of hair across the top. Distracted from my mission, I would start combing his two sections of hair, straight up, then together over the top. I would brush them down, long over his ears, and then finally I got them back to a semblance of normalcy. But Papa still had to redo it himself, which I guess is why I never got my quarter.
Papa always served ice cream after dinner. Neapolitan: vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry, and he would scoop the long way, so that you got each flavor, but sometimes we just asked for one flavor. For me, it was either chocolate or strawberry, vanilla being so...vanilla. Papa dipped his scoop into a glass of warm water and the ice cream practically floated out of the container. He was a professional. Literally. Papa worked at and later owned Kay's Sweet Shop on Pulaski in Chicago. After the neighborhood turned too rough to own a business there, he opened up a Baskin Robbins. I later worked in a different Baskin Robbins, to continue the family tradition, but I just ate a bunch of banana splits, gave out too many free cones, and got tendonitis from scooping. I'm not sure I got the ice cream entrepreneurial genes.
Papa always had a dog. When I was a freshman in high school, one of my friend's families had a litter of puppies, and Nana surprised Papa by getting him one. I remember sitting in the kitchen with the little dog, waiting for Papa to come through the door. He named her Murphy, because he had a crush on Candice Bergen and loved the show Murphy Brown. Papa told me that Murphy was his favorite dog, the best one he ever had.
Almost exactly 4 years ago, I rented some audio equipment from StoryCorps, a company that travels all over the US and records people interviewing each other. I brought it over to Papa's to do an interview with him. It took us a while to get our groove, because Papa kept grabbing the microphone and saying things like "They call me Swing and Sway with Teddy Kay!" When he wouldn't give the microphone back to me, I had to remind him how interviews work.
Then he told me some great stories. Playing saxophone in The Jimmy Dale Band and The Gents, with his older brother Ray; coming home after school to clean the house and get dinner ready before his parents came home--a particularly interesting story, since I never actually saw Papa make dinner in my entire life, although he did grill, and I guess that counts; meeting Nana at Kay's Sweet Shop and their first kiss in the apartment above the shop. He didn't ask for her parents permission before he proposed to her. He told me "I think they knew we were for each other." They were married for 63 years.
About Nana, he said "She was a beauty. She reminded me of Linda Darnell, the movie actress."
About parenthood, he said "I thought we would have three." They had eight.
About me, he said "Get some grandchildren going."
It took me a little longer, but eventually Dad and I got married, and we did get you going. And in enough time for Papa to meet you. He came to San Francisco to hold you when you were 3 weeks old, traveled to Lake Archibald with you, and spent your first Christmas with you. His hearing was pretty bad, but I think he may even have heard you say "woof woof." And for a man who loved dogs as much as Papa did, that must have been music to his ears.
Love,
Mom
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
An unexpected trip
Dear Scarlett,
Last week you and I went to Oak Park on a last-minute trip (booked the day before we left). Papa was in the hospital, after having suffered an aneurysm, and we went to see him. He was in the neurointensive care unit, and no one under 13 is allowed to go, so you stayed home while I visited. Papa was pretty alert, and although the situation was serious, he was making jokes and smiling. He knew who I was and he let me hold his hand and even comb his hair--although he did snatch the comb away from me and tell me I didn't know what I was doing.
His ups and downs turned mostly to downs by the weekend, and on Sunday he was taken off of his tubes and wires. He is still at the hospital and the family is with him regularly. I am missing him, missing Nana, Nonnie and Pops. But so very grateful that I got to be with him last week, to talk about ice cream and puppy dogs, and other favorite Papa topics.
A highlight of the trip for you was playing with Uncle Frank. He walked up and down and up and down and up and down the stairs with you and I never heard a single word of complaint (which is very unusual for Uncle Frank.) You kissed him over and over, each time saying "ow" and wiping at your lip where his mustache had tickled you. This all made Pops quite jealous, but he felt better later when you kept crying each time he left the room.
Now we're back home and I have Papa and the rest of the family on my mind everyday. It's hard to think about losing people you love. It makes you appreciate all the time you've had with them, and I have certainly been feeling that way about my Papa. It was hard to say goodbye to him on Friday. I wish it was simply that he was leaving the room for a while.
I love you,
Mom
Last week you and I went to Oak Park on a last-minute trip (booked the day before we left). Papa was in the hospital, after having suffered an aneurysm, and we went to see him. He was in the neurointensive care unit, and no one under 13 is allowed to go, so you stayed home while I visited. Papa was pretty alert, and although the situation was serious, he was making jokes and smiling. He knew who I was and he let me hold his hand and even comb his hair--although he did snatch the comb away from me and tell me I didn't know what I was doing.
His ups and downs turned mostly to downs by the weekend, and on Sunday he was taken off of his tubes and wires. He is still at the hospital and the family is with him regularly. I am missing him, missing Nana, Nonnie and Pops. But so very grateful that I got to be with him last week, to talk about ice cream and puppy dogs, and other favorite Papa topics.
A highlight of the trip for you was playing with Uncle Frank. He walked up and down and up and down and up and down the stairs with you and I never heard a single word of complaint (which is very unusual for Uncle Frank.) You kissed him over and over, each time saying "ow" and wiping at your lip where his mustache had tickled you. This all made Pops quite jealous, but he felt better later when you kept crying each time he left the room.
Now we're back home and I have Papa and the rest of the family on my mind everyday. It's hard to think about losing people you love. It makes you appreciate all the time you've had with them, and I have certainly been feeling that way about my Papa. It was hard to say goodbye to him on Friday. I wish it was simply that he was leaving the room for a while.
I love you,
Mom
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