My biological father left
before I formed any memories of him. He
was replaced by an abusive stepfather who only much later mellowed into a
sweet, but broken old man. My mother struggled with her own demons of anger and
mental illness.
Growing up, encouragement
and guidance were in short supply. Fear
and criticism were the primary themes.
My maternal grandfather “Papa
Tuna”, with roots in this gritty but beautiful village of Veglio, was a legend
in my mind. He named me for himself
after a long, unproductive debate amongst my parents. He took me fishing,
showed me the cows, pigs, rabbits and chickens that provided for our extended
family. He introduced me to the wonders of coffee and dark chocolate and those
awful candy cigarettes that were mandatory for any child of the 60’s.
He died when I was seven,
the result of too much free time in retirement that was occupied by
drinking. He was a pioneer with a kind
and generous spirit.
I sought acceptance and praise
in many forms. Sports, sometimes school but
most of all in work. It was fleeting and I put way too much of my identity into
the work of the moment.
Later in life, I have been
blessed with great friends and
mentors. People who are there for
the good and the bad. Who help each
other most when the chips are down. I
felt the power of an “atta boy” and really honest acceptance. And in advice and perspective even when I
didn’t want to hear it.
I took a walk with Papa this week. Our hands were clasped behind our
backs just like he did and I do. We looked at the new roof, the kitchen the
fields that we are clearing. We sat in
the church and looked up at the white dove and the blue and fading
ceiling. I asked him if I have done
ok. He smiled and winked but I could not
hear him.
So for now, we will keep
at it. And I will do my best to
encourage and guide and help the young people in my life.
Ultimately, we are helping
to build something for this next generation who are being called back to the land
and a deeper spirit of community.
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