Papa Geno

 

 

Whenever we used to go on walks downtown, we would always make sure to stop by the barbershop. My grandpa was usually there, cutting someone’s hair and chewing on a cigar. Hudson, Chloe, and I would park our bikes and scooters outside before coming in to stock up on Twizzlers and Dum Dums. I would always grab all the root beer and grape flavors that I could find. While we ate our candy, I would sit and admire the pictures grandpa had hung in front of his chair. I noticed the baby picture of me wearing the pink and white striped dress with my Alfalfa curl and tongue sticking out and one of Hudson wearing a red hat. There is another of my cousin Ben with a wide smile, a second of me drinking a bottle in the playpen, and a couple others that I can’t recall. The opposite wall was lined with black and white posters of men styling different haircuts.

 

At the time we called him Papa Geno, or just Papa, because my mom worked at a pizza restaurant called Papa Geno’s years ago and we thought it was funny since his name is Eugene. It turns out he doesn’t like being called that, so we just call him Grandpa now.

 

A few years ago, he had a stroke, which led to multiple seizures that have made my grandfather the man he is today. He was well-known golfer at the local country club and a successful barber, but lost his sense of coordination, so he can barely do either. He still puts a little, but whenever he can’t do something, he always says there is something wrong with his brain. Whenever we see him now it is usually at his house or when he is feeling well, walking around town his his dog, Sadie.

 

We see my grandparents more often now than when we were out and about on a stroll or during the holidays, ever since my parents separated. When we’re all home from school, we usually go over to their house for Italian food. Grandpa, being half Italian and half Spanish, sure does enjoy his share of pizza and pasta. He always has some sort of plan for a unique meal. Once he eats a meal he really likes or hates, he will never forget about it. We’ve stopped going to Carini’s, Christian’s, Track Side, and a couple more restaurants because of one bad experience in each restaurant. We still eat at Half Moon though. Last time we called in, my mom made sure to pass the phone off to him after going through the list of everyone else’s meal, so he could order himself a personalized dish. Instead of struggling to read the menu, he decided to just explain the dish he wanted. In his loud, Italian voice he said, “Hey! Is Stefan there tonight? Could he make me that Puttanesca sauce that I like with the peppers?”

 

During dinner he alway sat in the same chair at the end of the table and watched the Uconn girls’ basketball game as usual, while the rest of us had a conversation. It seemed like he wasn’t listening to the dinner table conversation, but no one ever really knew when his selective hearing kicked in. I remember one time Chloe asked McClain if she showered in the past few days and without turning his head away from the television he said, “Well, I sure haven’t.” I’m convinced I get my listening skills from him. He decides when and who to listen to. My grandma’s most asked question is, “What are we going to do with him?”

 

I love listening to my grandpa when he has something to say because it is usually entertaining. He says amusing things like, “Spring break? You’re in grammar school for God’s sake!” When my sisters, mom, and grandma were talking about marriage he said, “Don’t worry, we won’t even be around then.” And my gramma responded with, “Oh, Gene, that’s a morbid thought.” He has proven to us that he can form solid opinion, like on my mother’s ex husband. He reminds me every time I see him to not trust that man and to always use my brain to outwit him.

 

After he has eaten, he is always surprised and says, “Wow, Natalie! You ate a lot tonight. As a small man, I think you ate more than me.” or something in the context of him being such a skinny man and having twigs as arms. Then, he tries to have me eat dessert because he knows how much I like coffee cake. Sometimes even the Oreos and peanut butter will come out. Grandpa always makes sure to give his best friend, Sadie, a scoop of peanut butter. I believe he has trained her to beg. Every time we eat, their dog always tries to jump up and steal our food or napkins. He usually takes her out to go to the bathroom a couple times when we come over. First, when we arrive because she gets overly excited, another time in the middle of eating, and one time afterwards. I make fun of him because when he puts his jacket and hat on, it makes it so his balding head is barely covered and it looks like the golf cap is going to fall right off.

 

Next, we scratch off lottery tickets to see if we will win for life. He always says one day he will and he’ll fix all of our problems.

 

My grandpa taught me that you just have to learn to let things go sometimes, but to always see the truth in somebody’s lies. He taught me to be careless, but be passionate about specific interests. He taught me to never give up.

 

After watching my grandfather overcome all of the difficulties life has thrown at him, I have become even more inspired to have his mentality. He persists to play golf, drive his car, and even cut people’s hair, even when he is told he should not do it. One time I drove with him to pick up the pizza and he happened to park right on the line of two park spaces. He did not even notice until I told him and all he did was laugh at himself and say, “We’ll only be a minute.”