The Norwegian ladies from Zion came to our house every year on fifty-night street to get shoe and clothing sizes of the kids, wants and needs. I watched as they made lists, asked our favorite colors and sipped coffee with my mother as a huge pot of split pea soup sat on the stove. When the time came to go to that party, we sang, ate, laughed, cried a little at all of the brown grocery bags filled and gift certificates for shoes were slipped down the inside of every bag. Our parents never came, but my father would sometimes drive over and we'd load up the car, and then we'd run home through the snow, the wonderful, cold and white snow filling our socks. It was the best of all Christmases.
As we got older time became harder for other families and we got less than when we were little. we were no longer considered poor. Yet being poor seemed somehow better, when you're little that is. I'm sure the grown-ups didn't think so.
Well we all know the expression, when one door closes another one opens and it did. It really did for me. That door came in the form of a man, Mr. Vitalo. He would become to me everything a man should be. I never saw that until I knew him, really knew him and I knew him because I watched him. I watched him as much as I could, and I listened to him.
While I loved this man, I loved him more it seemed in winter. He would stand outside in just his suit, jacket collar up if it was snowing, and rubbing his hands together for warmth while ushering kids into school before the bell rang. He stood about five feet seven inches tall, yet in my eye he was well over a six footer.
I watched and listened to him for years, as I was about to be left back because I didn't pass math or make my own graduation dress and I was happy to be left back. Then I would have him closer in my heart another year. But it wasn't to be. He passed me on the charcoal steps one day, said, "Hey Mac, ready for high school?" I answered, "oh Mr. Vitalo I'm not going, I never passed math or made my own dress". His answer for that was, "look Mac, you're a good kid, you just need a push, study more, stop babysitting (my brother-sure, like that would happen) and you'll do fine. This one time, I'm breaking my own rule".
I stood there, begged and almost cried to be left back. But he just patted my back and said, "you'll be fine Mac". He was so good, so very, very good, but he just didn't know what sending me on meant. I believe he was truly filled with gold. But he didn't know my family except a few verbal run-ins with my father to which he stood firm...well years moved on and oh yes, I did get left back in high school, taken out at fifteen, almost fifteen, to stay home and babysit.
Life passed. I married, moved on from the East Coast to West and back again, two children, graduated Penn State and still thought of Mr. Vitalo. I saw him on every corner in my mind. I felt his hand on my shoulder over the years and knew when I graduated I had to look him up. Besides having my two children, seeing Mr. Vitalo again was the third best day in my life. I'm going to end this here and remember that Brooklyn brought me God, Children, Mr. Vitalo, cobblestone streets and stick ball, Zion Lutheran Church, giant trees in sunset park and the biggest snows a kid could love. What more could I ask for ?
See the very Early stories about Mr. Vitalo
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