Don’t Look Now, Dad, But You’re Being Watched!
by Pastor George Pearsons
“Grandpa passed away.”
These were the words my father spoke to me over the telephone that warm spring Sunday in 1972. I was an 18-year-old art student in Boston now having to return home for a funeral service—one that I was dreading.
I loved my Italian grandfather. He, my grandmother, my mother and aunt made their way from “the old country” to America in 1921. They settled in a predominantly Italian town on Cape Cod called Sagamore. Grandpa worked his way up from building stone walls to owning a very successful restaurant and inn. He acquired 13 acres of prime land and became respected among his peers. In my eyes he could do anything, fix anything—he was the man who hung the moon.
As a child, I wanted to be with him all the time. I tried to act like him, walk like him, even talk like him. He was my hero.
I was devastated when my hero died.
The family patriarch was gone. An era had come to an end.
BVOV : 17
