First Chapters: Inside the Spaghetti Bowl by Frank Zaccari

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Inside the Spaghetti Bowl

By Frank Zaccari

CreateSpace (September 27, 2011)

Family/Relationships

Chapter 1

The squeaky clean smell of antiseptic starched the air. The sounds of people speaking in urgent but hushed tones could be heard in the overcrowded room where my mother Carmela (Carm Zaccari) laid in her hospital bed surrounded by my father, three brothers, two sisters, all of my nieces and nephews and my Aunt Mary (Mom’s sister).  My brother Frank nudges his teenage daughter Sara and quietly says, “Look around the room. Whom do you see?” She said, “Family”. Frank replied “That’s right because when it really matters all that you have is your family. Look at Grandpa. They have been married for fifty seven years and he is still there holding her hand. That’s what family and unconditional love is all about. As you get older and start thinking about marriage I want you to remember this scene. I want you to make sure that you are positive that the man you marry will be there holding your hand fifty seven years later at your death bed.”

My sister Annette standing next to Frank said, “That is right, with Italian families when one of us is tickled, we all laugh. When one of us is cut, we all bleed.”  Sara started to tear-up. Frank asked Sara if she was OK. “If this was scaring you we can leave.”  She said no she wasn’t scared and felt it was her place to be here with Grandma.  She said, “If it were me that was sick Grandma wouldn’t leave, so I am not leaving her”.  Sara puts her head down to try to hide her tears.

Aunt Mary is sitting quietly in a corner of the room next to Sara. She leans toward Sara and tells her, “I remember when they first met.”  She smiles at the memory and tells Sara the story.  “It was 1950. I had just become engaged to Sam Crea.  We had a party to announce the engagement. It was the first time these two large Italian families would meet.  Your Grandma and I are standing next to each other, Carm whispers to me, ‘Who is that guy in the brown suit?’  I glance over and said ‘That’s Frank Zaccari, he is Sam’s cousin. He is going to be one of Sam’s usher’s for the wedding.’  Carm whispered, ‘I hope he doesn’t wear that ugly suit. Brown is definitely not his color.’  We both laughed.  You know how infectious your Grandmother’s laugh is right?  So I tell her, ‘Shhh, stop it Carm. He is coming this way.’  Your Grandpa walks up to Carm and says, ‘Hi, I am Frank Zaccari; you must be one of Mary’s older sisters.’  Carm turned and said with a look that would melt the polar ice caps, ‘I’m Carm, Mary’s younger sister, thank you very much.’  Well your Grandpa didn’t believe her and he says. ‘No kidding, How old are you?’ Carm gives him a second glare that would melt the rest of the polar ice caps then she says ‘I’m seventeen.  Just what are you trying to imply.’ ‘You’re lying’ your Grandpa said with a sneer.  Carm turned to me and said, ‘Mary tell Mr. Tact here how old I am.’ Aunt Mary touches Sara on the shoulder and says, ‘It was love at first sight.’”

At this point everyone in the room is now listening to the story.  Sara forces a smile and says, “Really? Grandpa you really said that?”  My sister Mary Anne leans over and says out of the corner of her mouth, “Aunt Mary, that’s not how I heard the story.”   Aunt Mary gives her a sideways glance and the back handed wave that every Italian learns at birth, and says in a mock Italian accent, “Non jou tell my secrets.”  Mom, laughing then says to Sara, “Your Grandfather was a real smooth talker huh. How could I resist that opening line?” The whole room burst into laughter.

“Grandpa, how did you propose to Grandma?” Sara asked.

“He handed me a ring and said, ‘Here’” Mom said with a smirk. Dad argued back, “I did not. I took her out for a nice dinner and then I asked her if she would like to have dinner with me for the next fifty or sixty years. Then I handed her the ring.”

Sara looks warmly at her Grandparents and says wishfully, “Awe.  That is so sweet.”
“Sweet!”  Her Grandfather says with just the slightest hint of mock irritation.  “It was the most expensive dinner I ever had.” To which Mom answered, “It was worth every penny, but he just won’t admit it.” Mom squeezed Dad’s hand and they gave each other a smile and nod that let everyone know it was more than worth every penny. It was the start of fifty seven years of love and devotion. In that moment the years seemed to vanish from their faces and they looked as happy as they were the moment Mom accepted the ring.

After another hour of visiting, stories and a great deal of laughter, Mom said to my brother Tony, “Go take your brother Steve back to the hotel and help him get ready for bed.”  Steve is a quadriplegic from a car accident twenty-four years earlier. He has to be on strict regiment of a bowel program and sleeping program or he could get very sick.  For example, he has to be turned from side to side every three hours while he is sleeping or he could get bed sores.
Tony got Steve in bed around midnight and left Steve with our nephew Chris. Tony and his wife Penny returned to the hospital to be with Mom and the rest of my family.  When they got back to the hospital Mom was sleeping.  She woke up around 1:30 in the morning.  She was very sick and asked in a whispered tone, “I’m still alive?  What time is it?”  After we told her “Yes you are still alive” and the time she said, “Well, my Father died at three o’clock in the morning, maybe I will too.”  Tony told her, “No Mom, three o’clock is not good for me; I have to go back to the hotel and turn Steve.  Can we pick another time?  Maybe we can do lunch.  Have your people call my people.”  My Mother smiled and said, “Smart ass.”  Tony said, “No Mom, I’m Shit head, Frank is smart ass.”  My Mother laughed and drifted back to sleep.  At a quarter to 3 she woke up again and said, “Hey, go to your brother.”  She was the ultimate Mother right to the end.  Tony told her, “Don’t go anywhere and I will bring Steve back here in the morning.”    She promised and Tony left.  He brought Steve back to the hospital around 9:00 am and we all had a chance to say our last good byes.

All this occurred Sunday September 20, 2009.  Mom was awake and alert. It was as if she was waiting for her children and grandchildren to arrive so she could have her last moments with each. Some how we knew she would not allow herself to die until she had time to have a private last word with each of her children and grandchildren.

When my family arrived, Mom was in the hospital bed connected to a morphine IV and oxygen.  We were told by Dr. Helen who went to high school with my sister Mary Anne, that over the next couple days, Mom would become weaker and may experience more pain. The morphine drip IV was to make sure she was as comfortable as possible.  As she became weaker, the morphine drip would be increased. This would put her into a coma and her organs would start to shut down. It should be over within three to four days.

Mom knew the end was near. She had been planning this for the last few years. Two years ago we learned that Mom had a heart valve that was failing. If she didn’t have surgery the valve would eventually stop working and she would die. The doctors recommended open heart surgery, but Mom refused. Mary Anne asked, “How long are we talking about without the surgery?” The answer was, “It could be a week, a month, a year or five years. We don’t know, but it will not improve without the surgery.” Mom said, “I already had two major cancer surgeries. I am a two time cancer survivor. I have had both knees and one hip replaced. I am diabetic and not in the best of health. Even if I survive the surgery and the rehab, how long will this extend my life – maybe two years and my quality of life will be terrible. I am not going through this at this point in my life. I have lived long enough and I am ready for whatever happens.”   We all felt fortunate that we had the last two years.

For the past two years Mom had been giving things away to her children and grandchildren. She was putting together lists of where everything was and what needed to be done. She had prepared packets for each of her five children, eight grandchildren and one great grandchild. The clothes she wanted to wear, the style of her hair, what she wanted in the coffin with her, what readings she wanted at her funeral, the pall bearers were already selected and even which of the family cemetery plots she wanted as her final resting place. As always she had addressed every detail. She did not want her family to be burdened with her death and funeral.

We all saw Mom’s health continue to deteriorate. We saw it at her Grandson Chris’ wedding in July. We saw it again in August when everyone came home as Mom started hospice care. We knew the end was near.  While we knew the call was coming, it didn’t make it any easier when on Saturday September 19, 2009 Mary Anne made the call to my brothers Frank, Anthony (Tony), Steve and sister Annette, that Mom was in the hospital under hospice care and requested that all treatment stop. As a hospice patient any number of people can come and visit at any time, day or night.  Sadly, we all knew this was going to be the end.

We packed up our families and started the journey back to Dunkirk, New York from Sacramento, Phoenix, Rochester and Buffalo.  During the next eight days the Zaccari family went through every emotion imaginable. Hundreds of family and friends came to the hospital to see and talk to Mom one final time. As loved ones came to visit both the hospital room and our parents’ house were filled with laughter, tears, food and stories.  We heard so many stories and learned so much about our family.  We heard stories about their journey to America; their struggle to live the American dream; the joys of weddings and births and the heartaches of death and illness. The stories brought laughter and tears. They filled us with pride and joy.

My cousin Sandra said, “The story of this family needs to be written. People need to know what it was like to grow up Italian in the 60’s and 70’s; or in your case Frank, the 50’s.”  Mary Anne added, “It would make a great book.  People could relate to the way things use to be when families lived close together and helped each other and got together frequently to celebrate life.”  Tony said, “Most of the country thinks that growing up Italian is like those morons on the television show Jersey Shore”.  Frank asked “What is this Jersey Shore thing?”  Another cousin answered, “You know the reality show where the women all shop off the wrong racks and a guy walks around holding up his shirt.  They all live in one house and are drunk and get in fights all the time.”  “Happy to say I have never seen the show. Not the image of growing up Italian I remember” Frank replied.

Now don’t get us wrong, we have nothing against the people on Jersey Shore. They caught lightening in a bottle and made a bunch of money, which we hope they save. But with all the Italians have contributed to this country the two images that most people relate to are Jersey Shore and organized crime.

My brother Frank said, “Do you know how long that would take to compile all these stories and write a book?” My brother Anthony said, “And besides, who would read it?”
“I would read it.”  A little voice said from behind them.  They turn around to see Leah, Annette’s five year old daughter whom she adopted from China. Leah was holding Tony’s 14 month old grandson Ethan. “I could read it to Ethan, after I learn how to read chapter books.”
Then I whispered into Frank’s ear, “Here is your opening sentence.  Write this down.”  He looked around the room and found a piece of paper.  My brother Tony handed him a pen.  He wrote, “The squeaky clean smell of antiseptec starched the air.”  My brother Steve glanced at the paper and said, “You spelled antiseptic wrong.  You two Buttheads are going to need my help.”  You see, my three brothers actually put pen to paper, but I gave them the words; well, Mom and I gave them the words.  They literally wrote some of this book in their sleep.  For example, one night Tony had a dream.  I told him, “Write this down.”  When he woke up the next morning he had forgotten the dream. It wasn’t until a few days later when he found a piece of paper on his night stand with these words written in his own handwriting, “It was the single most gut-wrenching, heart-breaking thing that we ever had the privilege of doing.  We stood there looking at the first face our eyes ever recognized, we held the hand that first touched us so lovingly; and we were grateful to be there so that we could be the last face she would see, the last touch that she would feel.”  They were thinking about writing a eulogy but how do you sum up a life of seventy seven years into seven minutes; her aspirations, her reservations, her pains, her joys, her successes, her disappointments, her sorrows, her love.  “That’s your story,” I told him but I am getting a little ahead of myself.

So Tony, the family historian; Frank, the author and Steve, the editor started to talk about writing this book. They started to collect stories about the family and what we all remembered about growing up Italian. They struggled over what to name the book. Naming it Growing up Italian didn’t capture the complexity of a family. There are so many components that make up a family that is just starting its fourth generation in America. What title could symbolize all these components? How do we combine the original family members, marriages, divorces, births, deaths, traditions, culture, good times and bad times? Frank mentioned this to one of his customers, a seventy year old man named Charles Walker. Mr. Walker is a former Marine and Korean War Veteran. While he is not Italian, he understood what Frank was saying. He suggested Inside the Spaghetti Bowl, saying “With spaghetti everything is mixed in together, the pasta, the sauce, meatballs, sausage, cheese, and all the spices. You throw everything in together and miraculously it all works. Sometimes is comes out great, sometimes not so much, just like a family.”  He was right. What is in this spaghetti bowl that made up the Zaccari/Mancuso family?  The ingredients are as follows:

• Stories of passion and humor blended in perfect harmony and served up with love and a sprinkling of faith.
• Stories of proud men and courageous women.
• Stories of veracity and respect shining like a midnight star.
• Stories of undying love and heart-breaking gallantry.
• Stories of integrity carved in stone.
• Stories of family honor and unfaltering loyalty.
• Stories of tragedy and setbacks colliding with winning determination.
• Stories of valor set in gold.
• Stories of how to live and die with grace and dignity.

It is our story, it is your story.  It is a story for every beating heart that has loved or has been loved.  It is the story about the struggles and pains endured by those virtuous individuals who poured their lives into ours and filled our years with intimate memories and a gladdened heart.  It is the story you will want to pass down to your children and grandchildren.

This book is not about the history of Italians in America or what is was like to grow up Italian and it is not about how to make spaghetti.  It is a book about family and unconditional love through the good times and bad. It is about a family who is and always will be there for each other no matter what. We hope you see your family in this book and the memories make you smile.

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