I ended up thinking about Nonny*, my paternal grandmother a couple of times in the last two days. Yesterday it was when Danielle and I were discussing Grandparents naming - my father goes by Nono, my stepmother goes by Nona, and my mother-in-law will go by, according to her, "whatever Sienna wants to call her." This morning my co-worker John and I got onto the subjects of old school toughness and grandmother's**. Ergo, you get the Nonny entry.
My Nonny was an Italian woman disguised as a block of flesh measuring 4 foot 6 high by 4 foot 6 round. I never recall seeing her in anything except a black dress, white shirt, thick glasses, and unmoving black curly hair - though pictures show her with a occasional bit of color. She had made a living as a seamstress, which accounted for her incredibly strong fingers and hands. If she grabbed you she GRABBED you and there was no way she was letting go until she wanted to. She was old school in how she dispensed love, justice, and wisdom.
By the time my brother and I were old enough for her to have a noticeable impact on our life, she had been tempered by numerous other grandchildren - or at least that is what we are TOLD. It is a frightening concept to image her at the height of her kickassness powers. She spent about a third of a year living with us - spreading her love between ourselves and various other family members the other two thirds of the year. After my Mother died she ended up getting an apartment about half a mile away from us.
Food is Love...
Like all Italian grandmothers my earliest memories of Nonny involve food. Not in one of those cooking all day events, or homemade sauces, or any family recipe secrets - my memories involve pizza. Specifically pepperoni pizza from Centre Pizza in Framingham. If Nonny was coming over we got pizza. This was a HUGE deal as Papa Gino's was actually closer and cheaper, though Nonny knew we liked the more expensive Centre pizza and the tiny pieces of pepperoni dotting the salty cheese which sat on a field of spicy goodness.
We've Heard So Much About You...
As I already mentioned my brother and I had heard seemingly thousands of Nonny stories. Her old school ways came from being a street smart Bostonian with a love that melded with pride in the form of my two Aunts - Linda and Anne, and her baby boy my father Joey. By the time my father was six Grandpa** was no longer in the picture, which effectively left Nonny as a single parent during the 40s & 50s.
A single parent resulting in a thousand stories. Here are my favorite all-time "Don't Mess With My Nonny Stories."
A Plate of Spaghetti
Nonny was watching my cousin Ricky and asked him what he wanted for dinner. She made him a plate of spaghetti and put it in front of him. "I don't want THIS" Ricky said. Wordlessly she dumped the plate of spaghetti over Ricky's head.
The Tree v Nonny
Nonny was driving her car and slid off the road straight into a telephone pole. The pole fell onto her car roof, crushed it inward, leaving her bloodied and unable to move. She looked ratched unconscious when the paramedics showed up. One of them said, "We have a big one in here." Without opening her eyes she replied, "When you get those pole off me I'm kicking your ass."
Nonny & Boyfriend's
My Aunt Linda's boyfriend Phil was over and in the forbidden upstairs room. Specifically the bedroom. Which is when my Nonny arrived and saw him on her bed. She ran across the room and JUMPED onto him, landing a perfect form body splash. She looked like a fullback hitting the hole and reportedly got good air on the jump. She then chased Phil out of the room, bouncing him down the hallway for being where he was not supposed to be.
No Sympathy for Your Dumb Actions
Nonny was babysitting my brother and I when I was about ten years old. I loved black olives. It was my favorite food in the world and we always had 24 ounce cans of olives in the house. I asked my Nonny if I could have some, she said yes - except not too many - and left me to my own devices. I then ate the ENTIRE can.
Then I drank the remaining olive juice.
Soon after I threw up olive and olive juice all over my bedroom floor - I can still picture the tiny chunks of olives sitting on the wood floor our cat Smokey walking over the remains, giving one good sniff and then sprinting out the room. In tears I ran to Nonny and asked her to make me feel better AND clean it up. "You Son of a Bitch, clean up the mess. I told you not to do it." She then handed me paper towels.
Now, by now stretch of the imagination was Nonny mean. She was quite loving. When my mother died she gave me some practical words of wisdom, "Your mother is dead. It's done. I'm old. You have to help take care of your father."
Practical. To the point.
She had just come up from a different place and really was of a generation where she wanted and needed her children to do a bit better than she did.
Her Practicality on Education...
My mother's family disowned her for a while since she was Jewish and married a Catholic. Very Romeo & Juliet - though without all the death. I once asked my father how Nonny had reacted - seeing as how she was a hardcore Catholic. My father told me that she actually didn't care as long as it didn't interfere with his graduate school education. All she cared was that he did well in school. When my brother was born and my Nana and Grandpa (the Jewish side of the grandparents) heard he would be raised Jewish all was forgiven. Knowing my Nonny, she probably figured she already had enough Catholic grand children anyway.
She was Street Smart & Protective...
Having heard about the street smart and protective stories I actually got to see it in action one particular time. I was goofing around in my driveway with my friend John and I had a fold up knife in my front pocket. All of a sudden from a window overlooking the driveway came a booming voice, "Wayne, get up here!" "What? No. We're going out." "Up here now!" "I said--" "Up.Now.John, go home."
Ticked off I went into the house. She greeted me with, "Is someone bothering you? Why do you have that knife?"
She had seen the outline of the knife in my pocket. She threatened bodily harm to whoever was bothering me. No cops. No questions. Just a name. "No one, is bugging me, Nonny." She looked through me to see if I was lying and when she saw I wasn't, her hand shot out and w
ithin half a second she had me off the ground and was shaking me like a rag doll. "Don't be stupid. You carry a knife and you'll find trouble!"
She took the knife from me and tossed me out of the room. I STILL don't know how she was the outline.
She Respected Courage...
My friends were terrified of Nonny. She could intimidate without trying. One day John wanted to play with me and couldn't find me at home. He then rode his bike to my Nonny's apartment to see if I was there. I wasn't. I thought she would be mad that he went there. Instead of she loved it, thinking he was respectful enough to go there. John is the only friend she would actively ask about and I think it made her doubly happy when she found out his parents were first generation from Scotland. She would always ask, "Is that, Son of a Bitch John coming over?"
Ah Yes, Son of a Bitch...
That was a way of saying she liked someone. You were a "son of a bitch" and somehow it made the person smile. In the days before political correctness she had a mouth on her that wasn't even offensive since every adult I knew about her talked the exact same way. I can't even repeat the words in this blog.
I do know that she gave it was well as she took it.
She was always "Ma" though...
Parents have a way of reducing you to a six-year-old child and my father was no exception as he always said, "Ma" in a thick Bostonian accent that was a badge of honor from growing up in the city. Oddly enough other than his sisters I NEVER heard anyone refers to parents as "Ma" - always Mom or Mommy. Coincidentally no one calls my father Joey - only Nonny and her own part-Boston accent and part-old country accent managing to chew up the word and spit it out as seven syllables.
Yes, Nonny was a tough old bag.
Tough enough that she was declared dead. Twice.
Last Rites the First Time
During an operation to remove a brain tumor she received last rites. She survived. The Doctor declared that she had worn him out and that the tumor was SOFTBALL sized. Which admitted he would not have tried to remove if he had known it was so large.
Last Rites the Second Time
As my Nonny grew old she (reluctantly) was put in a Nursing-type hold in Fitchburg and as she grew weaker a hospital. Looking way too skinny and her skin seemingly translucent and looking like a wrinkling overcoat her heart stopped. As they worked to revive her she received last rites. She survived. Again. When told about it, she muttered the question, "Again?"
Coincidentally my Aunt Anne was in the room BOTH times she was received last rites.
A Final Goodbye...
After the second last rites Nonny was so sick that he little baby Joey was called back from the Peace Corp. She ticked HERSELF off by living and becoming healthily enough that she finally told my father to go away. Among the final words were, ""Don't have a funeral for me. I've inconvenienced you enough and you have a life to live."
She died several months later. There was no funeral. Only the memories of a Nonny who loved her family and lived life to the fullest. She also made me smile.
My favorite all time Nonny comments...
- "Hitting a child is fine. Hitting a kid a lot is not-so-fine. You gotta know the difference."
- "I want you to be happy. If you marry a Jew that is okay. (Long pause) Though if you marry a Christian that'd be better."
- "Jesus died for your sins. If you went to Church you'd understand that. Though the bagels are good at temple."
- "I hope you get all your mother's looks. Not her driving though. She was a terrible driver."
- "Joey, you're my baby and I'll always love you. You're getting fat though."
- On my father's girlfriend Robin moving in with us, "An Italian? These kids are Jewish - she better raise 'em that way."
- On my friend Neal, "Every parent thinks his kid is special. His are wrong."
- On me helping my brother with his paper route at age nine, "Go to school or this will be your job forever."
- Upon meeting Robert Parish in a line a supermarket, "You're tall. You're black. You must be a Celtic. They don't allow other blacks in Boston."
What Does Magic Johnson have to do with all of this?
1991. The world was changing and Magic Johnson just quit playing basketball due to HIV. Nonny comes up to me, "Hey, Wayne, about sex." Me, "uhhhhhhhh." Really, how do you react when your sixty plus your old Nonny comes up to discuss sex. "You know Magic - right? Well, he got the AIDS. If he can get the AIDS you can get it. Wear a condom." 20 years later I STILL don't know how to reply to that.
Sienna. That is your greatgrandmother. The legendary Nonny.
Wayne--
* Interestingly enough Nonny is spelled Nonni and means "grandparents" or "grandfather" in Italian. I have no idea why we called her Nonny. We just did.
** John's family is from China and as a fourteen year old girl John's grandmother used to sneak food into the Japanese prison camps.
*** Depending on the story Grandpa either died of consumption when my father was six or Nonny threw him out of the house for being an alcoholic and he was considered "dead."
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