for Vecchio, his and mine
I was not home the day my grandfather Nonno died, but my brothers were, and they told me how my father had received the news. It was a couple of weeks before Christmas, and my brothers, Johnny and Peter, were visiting my father at his law office. Dad was with a client named Ernesto, an old family friend from Nonno’s hometown in Italy. My brothers were waiting in the lobby when Ernesto came flying out in a panic. “Oh, Madonna, Madonna!” he cried. “You boys, you come for your daddy!” Johnny and Peter ran into the office. My father made a noise as if he were choking. He held the phone limply in his hand, his brother Francesco on the other end.
