Atta Boy, Joe!: Tales and Testament of a Grandfather's Words of Wisdom, Family Values, and Unwavering Love

By John Lanuti

Miss the old days when the best place in the world was your grandfather's house? Well, rekindle that family spirit through the stories in this book and relive some of those fond memories! Watch as a boy and his grandfather, his "Gumpa", pronounced "GOOM-pah", grow together in the small upstate New York town of Endwell. Laugh as their light hearted enchanting adventures enjoy a fun and carefree Gumpa flair, taking them from barbers to nursing homes to football to homework and oftentimes to Gumpa's house. Learn from Gumpa's unique spin on the world as he teaches valuable lessons about life, love, and self. Be humbled as Gumpa gives of himself without concern, placing the needs of others before his own. As you wonder if he can do and deal with anything, discover no man can take the world on alone. Be inspired when together they must come to grips with their greatest obstacle yet, death.

There is nothing quite like the bond shared between grandson and grandfather-because there is nothing quite like the love of a grandparent and ultimately, the love of a family. Read it, and then read it again. Or better yet, go call your grandfather.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 20, 2003
• ISBN: 9781469725246

Book preview

All Rights Reserved © 2003 by John Lanuti

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

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ISBN: 0-595-28249-0

ISBN: 978-1-4697-2524-6 (ebook)

Printed in the United States of America

For all of my inspirations,

For my Grandparents,

For all Grandparents,

For the joy you bring him, Ruth,

And especially for my Gumpa.

Contents

Introduction

1  Gumpa

2  The Italian Ghetto and Gettin’ Out

3  A Toast for Grandma

4  Summer, a Scavenger Hunt, and a New Bike

5  The Ping-Pong Tournament

6  Report Cards, Homework, and Bacon Double Cheesburgers

7  Fall, Football, and Fun at Gumpa’s

8  Meatballs and Cowboys, a Lanuti Thanksgiving

9  Christmas, Crummy Rummy, Baccala, and Bingo

10  Grandma and the Nursing Home

11  I Love You’se Guys

Introduction

There it was. The simple looking old book with the faded green cover stared up at me as if to say, Hey, remember me? And of course I did. It was an Italian-English dictionary. At first glance, its place on the shelf did not command any more respect than any other book. Yet, this was no ordinary book. It was a gift from my hero.

Every boy growing up has his heroes. Sports legends they see on TV, great politicians and leaders they read about in the newspapers, movie stars they watch on the big screen, talented musicians they hear on the radio, or perhaps even an inspiring teacher. But for me, I always wanted to be like my grandfather, Joseph Lanuti, Grandpa Joe, or just Gumpa, (pronounced Goom-pah), to me.

My Gumpa gave the Italian-English dictionary to my younger brother, Dave, and I years ago. The reasoning behind it was an example of how Gumpa was always trying to teach us a little Italian, but it also served as a constant reminder of just how much there was to learn. To Dave and I, it became an instant classic. Not only did we learn how to say hello and thank you in Italian, but we now had a way to create new lewd phrases and off-color names to call my older sister, Jennifer. You can only imagine her joy as we translated words like buttcheese and fathead into Italian.

As much fun as that was, it is this little green book’s sentimentality which lives on today. For on the inside front cover, my Gumpa left a short, but powerful message. It read, To two great guys from one grateful grandpop! The word grateful was underlined and the message was repeated twice, the latter translated into Italian. To me, it spoke wonders about my Grandfather. The gift was a simple one, an Italian-English dictionary, but the thoughtfulness behind it amazed me. Not only did he take the time to send us the book, but he personalized it, and he himself claimed to be grateful. I remember thinking we should be thanking him for the gift, but he was the one thanking us. And that’s just the way Gumpa is. He was grateful for the laughs we gave him as we tried the Italian pronunciations, but in the long run, my brother and I became the grateful ones.

Grateful because he taught me so much. He taught me how to cook. He taught me how to be humble and how to place the needs of others before my own. He taught me the importance of family, the importance of love, and he did it all with a smile on his face. And the best part is, he did not just grill these ideologies and values into my head like a teacher cracking the whip on his student. He taught them through little daily chores, seemingly mundane tasks, and most of all, just by being himself. Life’s idiosyncrasies can be so fascinating and so meaningful if we only take the time to notice them. And Gumpa is full of them. They are what makes him Gumpa. He is so special and means so much to me that I want to share him with everybody. If you never get the chance to meet him, I hope the stories in this book will give you an insight into our times together, our family, and paint a vivid and colorful picture of my Gumpa. For at the end, if you can clearly visualize Gumpa smiling the Gumpa smile, you will have learned about life, loss, devotion, and the unwavering love of a family.

I am not alone here; we all have Grandparents. A Grandma in Wisconsin, or a Grandpa we have not seen in a long while. If they are still alive, give them a call or write them a letter. What a blessing from God they are in the life of their grandchildren! If they have already past to His eternal grace, take a moment to think back on your time together. In this busy and hectic world, take just five minutes to conjure up some old memories, some faded gems, and I guarantee you will find yourself grinning from ear to ear and you will find yourself totally at peace. Still further, if your family has lost touch with one another, for whatever reason, don’t wait for them to make contact. Suck up your pride for just one day and make the time to reach out to a father, or to a daughter. Only then will you feel the peace and warmth a family brings. So forget your stubbornness and find your family. Believe me; some things are just more important.

My Grandfather is my hero, and I am grateful for each and every moment we share. I will always treasure the warm memories and the lessons learned just from being around him. Every boy growing up has his heroes, watching their every move on TV or in the papers, hoping to one day catch a glimpse of them in public. My story is no different, except not only did I meet my hero, I can call him family. This book is a collection of tales, a testament to his impact on me and all those around him. It is a tribute to my Gumpa, my hero.

1

Gumpa

I grew up in a small, rural town in upstate New York called Endwell. All’s well in Endwell we used to say. And it was. The green, soft rolling hills, comfortable climate, and old leafy trees lined the streets where cars rode by, or people walked, raising their hand in an affectionate wave as someone passed by. People seemed to care and they became familiar. Maybe it was because you saw them all around or maybe because they all seemed to be just like my family, Italian and Catholic. I say Endwell was small because everything seemed so close and convenient. The church, Our Lady of Angels, was two blocks down our street, Douglas Drive. The Giant grocery store just two more, right next to the Ace Hardware and the Dunkin Donut Shop. All the essentials, really.

I was born in 1977, the second of three children to my parents, Jim and Kathy Lanuti. My older sister, Jennifer, was born two years earlier and my brother, Dave, three years later. My Mom was the only one of us to have grown up outside of Endwell. She was from Neenah, Wisconsin, and my parents met at school, at the University of Wisconsin. A day after they graduated, they got married, and moved back to Endwell. My Mom was not from there, but as far as I was concerned, she was. It was in that small town our Italian-American and Catholic family made our home. We lived in an old two-story ranch house, with brown and white siding, a brick chimney, no air conditioning, and great, massive trees whose leaves my Dad made us rake every year.

Just up a hill from our backyard was Highland Park, complete with tennis courts, swimming pools, fields, jungle gyms, swings, and the highlight of it all—an authentic carousel with intricately painted and festively colored wooden horses galloping up and down in circles forever. Forever, that is, until the carousel operator would shut it down for the evening. The ride was free, a piece of garbage was all you gave, but the memories of the ride stayed with you forever. And when the music ended, signifying your turn was over, you ran as fast as your little legs could take you to the back of the line for another spin on your majestic black, white, or even yellow wooden stallion. It was great fun. Just past Highland Park was the Maine-Endwell High School, and the Ross Park Zoo was just a short drive beyond that.

Everything was so close by, including my grandparents’ house, and to me, it meant my Gumpa was never far away. He lived his whole life around Endwell. He is as much a part of the town as it is of him. I can remember as far back to when I was 7, and I figured out Gumpa knew Endwell and its people and they knew him. It was amazing. No matter where I went with him, I could not help but feel like I was with a celebrity. The phenomenon was simple, the pattern, repeatable. Walk into the Oakdale Mall, the Montgomery Ward, the Sunoco gas station, the butcher’s—it did not matter. He was always recognized, and he never disappointed.

If you were watching carefully, you could see it happening. An old couple, an elderly man, a young woman, whomever it was, would be walking towards us, perfect strangers. Then, their head would rise, they would catch a glimpse of Gumpa, and their eyes would widen. Their face would blush and light up, their fingers fidgeted, their pace would quicken and suddenly they would take on a more animated air. A sense of urgency and of happiness overwhelmed them. And most importantly and without fail, they would grin a smile so wide I swear it added wrinkles to some of their cheeks. Then, practically running towards my grandfather, not as strangers anymore, but as friends, they would eagerly shout, Hey Joe! How are ya?

Feeling their excitement and fueling it with his own warmth, he would reply, Oh my gosh! Mike! How’s the hip treatin’ ya? Or Hey Tony, how’s your daughter’s wedding coming along? Or even Terry! When we going bowlin’ again? But it was always more than a quick, simple hello. Gumpa remembered them, he remembered their lives, and he cared about them…all of them. He was their friend.

Next came my favorite part. After they shared a laugh or two, I would look up at my Gumpa, and he would look back, pat me on the shoulder, gather himself, stand tall, and introduce me, John or sometimes Giovanni as he preferred, as his grandson. Straightening my spine, trying to stand as tall as my Gumpa, I would say, Please to meet you.

Inevitably, tapping my head, his friends would return, You got yourself a great grandpa and I bet you’re gonna make him real proud one day. They knew the great honor and fortune I felt as I was introduced as my Gumpa’s grandson. They knew because they felt the same honor in being able to call him their friend. But, little did they know, my grandpa was already proud of me and of all his grandchildren. And little did they know I already knew I had a great grandpa and was proud just to be around him.

It was like that every place I went with Gumpa. He knew everybody, and everybody knew him. You couldn’t help but chuckle and be uplifted when you saw him coming. His cheerfulness and zest for life was contagious. The town loved him. I can remember thinking they even had named this church, St. Joseph’s, after him. It turned out to be named after some other Joe. This guy who married the Holy Mother, Our Lady. But I didn’t care; it was named after my Gumpa!

Even years later, at Dave’s high school graduation from Apex High School in North Carolina, in a city Gumpa had never as much set foot in before, did I witness more of the same. In what I figured would be the ultimate challenge I asked Gumpa to find someone he knew in the crowd. Then, just as I laid down the challenge, an elderly couple sat behind us, and patted him on his shoulder, and said, Hey Joe! What the heck are you doing here?! Amazing, simply amazing. I learned never to doubt my Gumpa again.

And that’s the way it went during the summer of 1985. School was out and we could spend