Today is Dia de los Muertos. As I have done in the past, I’m going to spend a few minutes remembering some of the people from my life who are no longer with us. Please bear with me during this indulgence.
Our family suffered a big loss this year when my Uncle Ken, who was one of my dad’s four brothers (Dad also has a sister) passed away in January. If I have any regrets about not becoming a father until the age of 38, it’s in the realization that Olivia will never truly know some of the family members that I grew up with. My ofrenda for today is to say a few words about these people, in the hope that all of my children will be able to have some memory of them.
I’ve said before that if I could have one wish, it would be for Olivia to know my grandmothers, Jessie Mary McLaren Kuffner (a/k/a Nana) and Ann Carasaniti Abbruzza Visco (a/k/a Grammy or Red) as I did. If I had a second wish, it would be for me to know my grandfathers, Charles Kuffner, Senior, and Russell Abbruzza, as well as I did my grandmothers. Olivia knows and loves all four of her grandparents, and her two living great-grandmothers. I am grateful every day for that.
The last of my father’s uncles, Frank McLaren, died a few months ago. He was Jessie’s younger brother, one of many men from my family who served in World War II. I remember him as a baseball fan (you’d be hard pressed to find a member of my family who isn’t a baseball fan) and a fan of Big Band jazz music. I have a memory of taking a drive with my dad and Uncle Frank up to Duchess County to visit Father Al, a retired priest who was related to us by choice rather than by blood, and listening to a CD of Glenn Miller music called “In the Digital Mood”. It was a beautiful day for the drive, and the music only enhanced that.
I remember Antoinette “Auntie” DiMarzio and her house on Bement Avenue. She loved to cook for everyone, but you could never get her to sit at the table – “I ate in the kitchen before you all got here” was her standard response. If you’ve ever known an Italian woman from that generation, you know what I’m talking about. She was a fixture at the family Christmas Eve celebrations at Red’s house, and was always the first to pinch someone’s cheek. At Christmas Eve, there was Uncle Joe, who usually fell asleep after the big meal, and Aunt Angie, who never could quite remember my sisters’ names. And Father Al, who spent years in China as a missionary, built TV sets and model ships for fun, and ate everything you put in front of him, who’d say Christmas Day mass at our house. Nick Visco, Red’s second husband and a former mess hall sergeant from WWII, would be in the kitchen fussing over his famous clam chowder (Manhattan style, of course) and preparing to wash the mountain of dishes. Frank Carasaniti, Red’s brother, who came back from WWII with disabilities that affect him to this day (he’s still with us, in the same VA hospital in New Jersey that we’d collect him from back then for the holidays), would give us kids brand new $50 bills for Christmas, which my dad would immediately seize and deposit into our savings accounts. Uncle Mike Abbruzzese, my godfather, who kept the old spelling of his surname and who was the best-dressed member of the family, and Aunt Judy, who now lives in California with their daughter Judith, always gave us kids clothes for Christmas. We loved him anyway. And Nana, who like my dad was a convert to the church of Italian cuisine. When I’m on my deathbed and somebody asks me what the best memories of my childhood are, Christmas Eve at Red’s house will come first by a mile.
On Dad’s side, I remember Uncle Hap Kuffner, who was a founding member of the Staten Island Baseball Oldtimers and who was one of the better storytellers I’ve known, and Aunt Bea, who worked as a prison guard and once broke up a fight involving Joann Chesimard and was one of the toughest women I’ve ever known. There was Uncle George and Aunt Ann Kuffner, who had a pool table in their basement that I loved to play on when we visited. Aunt Gertrude Cotter, who finished up my school papers on an old-fashioned manual typewriter before I went off to college. Uncle Fred McLaren, who lived downstairs from Nana in the last years of his life. Aunt Loretta and Uncle Paul Crifasi, who are still with us out in Albuquerque. In 1985, when the Trinity University Wind Symphony and Jazz Band came to town on a spring break tour, she attended the concert, bought a bright pink Trinity Jazz T-shirt that she later wore to her aerobics classes, and had a big pot of spaghetti sauce cooked in case I wanted to invite the whole crew over for dinner. We’d all already been farmed out to various houses for our overnight stay, but the thought of her being ready to cook for 80 college students on a moment’s notice tickles me to this day.
There are many more, most of whom I sadly never got to know very well. To all of you, I say I remember you, I miss you, and I hope some day Olivia will know you enough to miss you as well. Vaya con Dios.
lovely post, charles. today i’m remembering my grandma joyce, the only grandparent i had the pleasure of knowing. she was a great lady with a wicked sense of humor, and she had strong genes (i see this every time i look in the mirror).
thanks for sharing this post – it was a great read.
Really, really beautiful Chuckles. You have a great memory. Thanks for that!
Love you.
Dear Charles: You are loved because you are my son, but more so because you remember and revere those who went before us; our role models; our ancestors and those of our family that made a difference, maybe not in world affairs but surely in family matters and that’s what really counts. If Auntie could only have one more shot at your cheeks!
God luv ya,
Dad
Pingback: Veterans Day – Off the Kuff