THE LITTLE MAN

Mom  1985

 

When I was a young boy, perhaps 4 or 5 years old, my mother would occasionally give me a special treat, unexpected and unrelated to anything I did or did not do or to any holiday or celebration. It was usually something to do with art: crayons, a coloring book, perhaps a set of watercolor paints, and occasionally there was a piece of candy or a pack of gum. She told me a little man had brought them for me, and I had no problem believing her. Although I never met this little man, and never inquired about his identity, he became an important person in my young life.

The little man quietly disappeared in the years that followed. I don’t remember ever asking about him, and although I may have forgotten him, he never forgot me. That little man gave me so much more than an occasional special gift. Quietly and without my awareness (blinded by the self-centeredness of youth), the gifts continued, gifts that would remain with me for the rest of my life, helping me navigate the years ahead.

The little man was remarkable, wise in ways that cannot be taught. He had the uncanny ability to see people as they really were, to understand them and be sensitive to their needs and their failings. One of his greatest gifts was the ability to make people in his presence feel appreciated and special. He was devoted to me, loving and caring, but wise enough to trust me to go out into the world to become what I was intended to be. He never asked for anything in return, and wanted only for me to be happy. I have spent my entire life standing on his shoulders, and intend to remain there until the day I die.

The “little man” left us on a gray December day in 1991, but her gifts to me, and to others in her life, have endured endlessly. 

Mom  1985

Mom & Billy Mattioli in our front yard circa 1955

STANDING ON THEIR SHOULDERS

They had little to give but themselves, which they gave freely and abundantly.  Josephine, who never knew her father, at age eleven had to leave her home, quit school, and move into an apartment with three older brothers to assume all household duties.  Spartaco, known to all as Duke, lost his mother when he was eight years old. The youngest of four brothers, he left school after the eighth grade to work on the family farm, while his brothers and 3 older sisters completed high school and college or business school.  Life on the small farm for my parents was defined by unrelenting hard work, financial insecurity, and more than their share of  personal disappointments and illnesses.  Comfort and happiness were found in their large, extended family and friends.

It took forty years of living for me to fully appreciate all that these two remarkable people have given to me.

 Not a day goes by that I don’t think of my parents.  (My mother died in December, 1991, and my father in the autumn of 1995.)  I don’t know if this is unusual for someone my age, if it is because I was an only child, or if it’s because I am such a sentimental softy.  I suspect the real reason is because they were remarkable people, and that they gave me so much.  Ironically, in spite of all the writing I do, writing about them is very difficult for me.  Perhaps because I’m afraid I will not do them the justice they deserve.

I believe that I am the person I am because of my parents. Whatever I have accomplished of worth, and may yet accomplish, is the result of their gifts to me. 

The greatest of these gifts was a sense of self worth and self-esteem, which have allowed me to choose some of the difficult paths I have followed in my life.  I believe there is no greater gift parents can give to their children than a strong sense of their own self worth.

My parents taught me about love; they taught me about tolerance and forgiveness, and they taught me about humility.  They showed me that a person of worth treats everyone with the same respect and warmth, and that behavior toward others is determined by their humanity and not by their social position or importance.

They never spoke about these beliefs; they simply lived them because that is who they were.  Pretension was foreign to them.

I believe my life is a reflection of these two remarkable people, and I want it to be worthy of them.  My greatest responsibilities have been to live a life honoring their gifts and to pass these gifts on to my children and loved ones. 

After 78 years I’m still standing on their shoulders.