“Yes. Uh, in the backyard?”
“Good.” Dad nods and leads the way out into the
spacious area.
My dad is a lot older than my mom. Thirteen years. He
comes from immigrant parents who moved here when they
were in their mid-twenties, looking for a better life. It was hard
for them, as it is for most new immigrants. They hardly spoke
any English and the Italian community was so different over
here than it was in Italy that they were horribly homesick.
After a while, they settled in. They both got jobs, started a
family, and built a life here.
My dad actually met my mom in college. He was
working as a janitor. She was going to school out of state. She
was eighteen. He was thirty-one. That didn’t stop them from
falling in love. Their f
amilies were against it. That didn’t stop
them either. My dad grew up in New York. My mom was the
one who was from Phoenix. She didn’t want to be far away
from her family, so that’s where they settled. It was she who
encouraged him to go back to school and become a mechanic.
It was she who encouraged him when the only decent job he
could get was selling tires. It was she who stood by him when
he decided to open his own company.
Dad is pretty old school. He’s in his late sixties now,
but only his temples are grey. The rest of his hair is still as
raven black as it always was. He has these massive bushy
eyebrows that I always loved as a kid. Dad was never very
good at expressing his feelings, he’s from a different
generation, but I remember all the times I’d sit on his lap as a
little girl and he’d stare solemnly back at me. I’d wait for it.