Giorno Felice Padre!

My Dad, Luigi, 1945

My Dad passed on about 12 years ago. I miss him every day. Like my Dad, I'm a father and grandfather too. Every year on this day, Father's Day, my thoughts are with him even more so than they regularly are.  And they regularly are with him, at least for a few moments, almost every day.

My Dad was a first-generation Italian-American. Both his parents emigrated to America from Avellino, Italy, around the turn of the century. He was the youngest of my grandparent's 8 children, having one brother and six sisters. They're all gone now except one of his sisters, my Aunt Nanny -- Nanette -- who is in her 90s. Dad's given name was Luigi but everyone called him Lou, Louie, or Big Lou. (His siblings all called him Louie.) He learned to speak Italian before he learned English.

My Dad was fairly old school in his Italian-ness, but not to the degree his parents or a few of his siblings were. He graduated valedictorian of his high school class. He studied Latin in high school and between his Italian, English, and Latin language skills, he probably had a less difficult time learning French and German, which he did during the war. I wouldn't say he was totally fluent in French or German but I heard him speak it, conversationally, a few times and I'd say he was close to being fluent in both those languages.

My Dad enlisted in the Army before he was 18. (He never had a birth certificate so proving he was 18 when he joined must have been a matter of the recruiters taking his word for it, or someone's word.)  He fought in WW2 from D-Day to the occupation of Germany and later, after the war, joined a USMC reserve unit. His unit was activated in 1950 and, as a result, he also fought in the Korean War as a combat Marine.

Big Lou in his late 60s

My Dad never attended college but he certainly could have and probably should have. He was a very intelligent man. Instead, he raised a family, along with my Mom, always working two jobs in order to give us,  that is, my brother, sister, and I, childhoods that weren't wanting for much.

For most of my Dad's working life, he was a salesman in the commercial food industry employed by the Carnation company for many years.  (At first, selling consumer dairy products and then, later, with their institutional foods division, i.e., selling to large chain restaurants, hospitals, schools, hotels. etc.) Later, he worked for Durkee Foods. During his time with both those companies he became a district sales manager. For second jobs, which he worked most of his life even after my brother, sister, and I were grown, he was a bartender.  For anyone reading this who might be, like I am, from Northeastern New Jersey, my Dad worked as a bartender at the Blue Swan Inn, in Rochelle Park, NJ, for a lot of years.)  Dad always dreamed of owning his own restaurant but that never came to pass, although a few times it very nearly did.

In his later years, after he retired, my Dad still worked part-time jobs. (He was always kind of a workaholic.) If my Dad were still alive, he would love the internet!  He bought a computer, an IBM personal desktop computer, before the internet was anything and loved doing all kinds of things with it.

My Dad was a terrific father and, near the end of his life, I made sure I let him know that numerous times. Happy Father's Day Dad! I miss you every day. Thanks for being such a great Dad! I owe you so much.

And to all you Dads out there, and to those Dads who are no longer with us, Giorno Felice Padre! Happy Father's Day!

Bocce!

 Few things say "old goombas" better than Bocce, commonly referred to as Bocce Ball (pronounced botch-ee). That's not to say, of course, that Bocce is a game reserved only for Italian geezers. It's not. But we often perceive it that way, leastwise in America.

Even Popes play Bocce!

If you happen to see some old guys playing Bocce, I doubt you'll see too many of them who aren't Italian. That's because Bocce is a true Italian game. Bocce means "bowl."  Not a bowl like the one you serve your spaghetti-and-meatballs or other tradtional pasta dish in, but bowl as in bowling.

The history of Bocce goes all the way back to the Roman Empire. Some historians say it goes further back than that: to the ancient Greeks, and that it was those Greeks who taught the Romans to play Bocce. That makes perfect sense, of course. Italian culture owes much to the ancient Greeks and Bocce is likely another example of that.

My kind of Bocce players!

In early times, the Romans used coconuts from Africa as their Bocce balls. Later, they made the balls from olive wood. Due to the reach of the Roman Empire, Bocce (or games like it) spread throughout Europe, even as far away as the barbarians of Britain.  Later, after the Roman Empire had gone the way of all empires, Queen Elizabeth 1 and Sir Francis Drake both became avid Bocce fans and players.

(Side Note: Had the Brits also embraced Italian food, eating in England would be far superior. I know about English food because I once lived in the UK for three years. To say that most British food is bland and basically sucks is, I believe, a fairly accurate statement. Leastwise, in my opinion. That opinion is based on first-hand. long-term, eating experiences on that island. But that's another story, not one for this blog, and has nothing to do with Bocce.)

Okay. Here's how Bocce is played... Waitaminute! I don't need to write how Bocce is played. I can simply post a video that explains it. Gotta love the internet! Ciao!