For Dad

I was cleaning out a closet the other day and found this old photograph of my father and his parents, Frank and Mary. They were from the old country of Italy and are the typical immigrant story. Grandpa was from Sicily and Grandma was from Naples. They say that you can look up your relatives in Sicily just by saying your name to the people that live there. I bet they would be surprised they have a long lost Asian relative. This photo was taken on the steps of my grandparents house in upstate New York, in a small town called Friendship. I remember spending summers there and when seeing my grandparents for the first time, my grandmother touching my face said "bella, bella". I remembered their house smelled of brown eggs and malt and my dad bringing Grandpa Frank a mysterious bag of hops. Little did I know then Grandpa was a brewmister and brewed his own beer in the cellar. Grandma had chickens in the backyard and grew her own vegetables. I remember the heat of the summers and reading comics in the attic. And when we left for our long car trip back to California, Dad would cry beneath his sunglasses and silently wipe away the tears. When I made a copy of this picture for him, I knew he remember those days and I shared in his longing for them. Happy Father's Day, Dad.