My Sicilian neighbor, Enzo, has the same body size and mass as my father. Or rather, that my father had when he was still alive. I suspect that, like my father, he has always been the same weight, without much fluctuation. My father could eat a seven-course dinner, gain four pounds, go to the bathroom the next morning, and still weigh only 136. His entire life. Really. And I’m absolutely certain the same is true for Enzo.
Enzo can also appear gruff. Well, more than appear. He scowls. He can be dismissive. And his resting race seems to indicate disinterest. But when he smiles, wow. I’m always surprised. It’s disarming. And when he laughs, especially when I get him to laugh? Damn, I feel special.
My favorite uncle always waited for us by standing in the driveway. Of course, this was decades before cellphones and there was no way of knowing when we would actually arrive from our three hour commute. But when we did, Uncle John would be there blocking the driveway and yell out, “Go Home!”
The first time I remember this happening, I was small, maybe five, and I panicked. Did he really not want us there? But then, later in the day, after having my fill of sweets, because my aunt always greeted us with cookies and chocolate which we would gobble up in the kitchen, I went to the living room and sat on the floor. Here was my uncle in his favorite chair, while my mother sat on the couch and they talked. And here is where I realized that Uncle John loved me. He was all bark and no bite. He could be silly and when he laughed, his shoulders would lift and pull forward a bit, as if to shrink his large frame, and his long face would crack into a horizontal curve. This giant of a man was really just a softie.
Enzo reminds me of my father and of my uncle. Enzo feels like home.
It’s common to associate Mom with home. Mom is, after all, our very first home (literally). The mistake is when we assume all moms are comfort and cookies. Or that comfort and cookies are the epitome of home.
What feels like home is whatever reminds us of home when we were young. Particularly the good times, when we felt special and loved and laughed. And the people who feel like home are those who remind us of the people present at those times.
Discovering that my uncle really did like me and was happy I was there felt like cracking a secret code. It was magic and I’ve never forgotten it. For years to come, I would look forward to his rebuffing us and appearing not to care. And I couldn’t wait to see him smile and get him to laugh.
This is why I’ve always had a soft spot for the old(er) gruff man. And then package that man in a thin body, about 5’8” and, well, immediately I’m sure I know him. I want him to like me. I want to feed him and take care of him. (That latter part relates to taking care of my father towards the end of his life.)
What about you? Can you think of a time you met someone and immediately felt at home? Eventually, or sooner, recognizing the spirit of someone you loved?
The first time we saw our little old train house in Castelvetrano, Enzo was there. Tom remembers that he appeared to not like us. Perhaps he was even a bit irritated or unimpressed by these Americans and felt he was wasting his time showing us the property. Just before we left though, the realtor mentioned my intention to live there full-time. I jumped in, offering (in my very limited Italian) that I could learn Italian in the States but I could only learn Sicilian by living in Sicily. That changed everything. Enzo erupted. Yes! This woman understands that Sicilian is not a dialect, it is its own language!! Then came the smile. The rare and wonderful smile as I sincerely sputtered, “Grazie mille per il tuo tempo.”
At some point during every visit, Enzo likes to tell me how many other people wanted our property. But we were the lucky chosen ones. He says it’s because we want to maintain its historical significance, which we do. But we suspect there’s another reason. Perhaps the same reason he now refers to me as his sister, mia sorella. He doesn’t scare me. He can bark and scoff and shrug and I just smile. And maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly the response he needs to feel like I’m family for him. Enzo feels like home to me and maybe for Enzo, he feels the same. I’m home.
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Thank you! Your support means a lot.
Jan, your thoughts expressed the reality of how important family, memories, events are in life. Each of us need to recall what is essential, purposeful and important in life. We need to value others “always and in all ways”.
Thank you my friend for sharing.
Pat McDonald
It's hard to write against a central idea but I'm impressed with how you do it every time. This one is touching.