Dear Mom,
Happy Valentine’s day. We were just discharged from the hospital. You and dad are sleeping. Poor man has been up since 3 AM. You know how it is. You wake up, pee, get back in bed, and your mind instantly starts racing. In dad’s case these thoughts are virtually impossible to quiet since you were admitted: “Is she crying for me? Is she scared? Is she being rude to the nurses again?” Poor man. He’s too old for this. I’M too old for this. But thank God we’re all home, the 2 of you are napping together, and it’s pretty adorable.
Anyway, in honor of Valentine’s Day, I thought I’d tell you the story of how you and Dad met, since you no longer remember. I guess I should start with your father. Now I’m not sure if it was because he was German, or Lutheran, or because he could not stomach ANYTHING ostentatious, but Grandpa hated catholics. “Everything they do is so unnecessarily theatrical,” he’d say. “Our Lord was unpretentious!!!!!!!!!!” For your 50th birthday he took you to Italy and complained the entire trip about EVERYTHING. “How many God damn churches do these idiots need?! When do we eat? I’m hoping another heart attack will get me airlifted out of this God forsaken country. Why do they put cheese on everything? Are we in ANOTHER church???!!!!” When Chris’ father died, I sat next to grandpa at the funeral. When the pallbearers walked in with dad’s casket, incense burning, priests chanting, silent save for the sound of my mother in law’s tears, Grandpa leaned over to me and said, not quietly, “These people can’t even DIE without a show.” Yeah, your father hated Catholics, but he loved his children, and that’s how you and dad came to meet.
By the summer of 1958 Grandpa was at his wits end. Your brother (whom I’ll call Ulysses because it means full of anger) was (in Grandpa’s words) a rabble rousing hooligan. By the age of 12 he’d been arrested twice for shoplifting, and was an avid drinker and chain smoker. Grandpa tried everything he could think of but nothing could quench your brother’s thirst for trouble. So despite being a very proud and stubborn man, Grandpa reached out to every person he’d ever met in his life asking for advice. “I cannot let him continue down this path,” he wrote to his WW2 co-pilot Gabriel that summer, “But I’ve found myself at a loss.” Gabriel was Catholic. He’d taken Holy Orders after the war and was shepherding a tiny church outside of Boston. “My brother,” Father Gabriel wrote back, “I have prayed unceasingly since receiving your letter, and I believe the Lord in his divine mercy has given me an answer. Through my inquiries I have discovered that the Christian Brothers are opening a school in Lincroft this September. If memory serves, that is not far from where you live. Place Ulysses there. If anyone can tame the child’s passion for self-destruction, it is them.” The next day, Ulysses was enrolled in Catholic school.
Now as you can imagine, when Ulysses heard the news, he all but laughed in Grandpa’s face. I believe his exact words were, “You think I’m taking orders from a bunch of men in dresses?” Yeah it was a good talk. Anyway the first day of school arrived, Ulysses walked out the door, and one hour later someone was knocking on it.
Man: Good morning are you Mrs. Mast?
Grandma: I am.
Man: My name is Brother Michael. I serve our most holy Lord Jesus Christ in the capacity of truancy officer at The Christian Brothers Academy. Where is your son Ulysses?
Grandma: Oh my he left an hour ago. He’s not at school?
Brother Michael: I’m afraid not. Do you have any idea where I might find him?
Grandma: Well. Oh this is embarrassing but he may be loitering outside the liquor store at the corner of Bay and Pine Avenue. The police have found him there more than once.
Brother Michael arrived at the liquor store 15 minutes later to find Ulysses drinking and smoking with a bunch of other “beatniks”.
Brother Michael: Good morning gentleman. May the love of our lord Jesus Christ be with you on this fine day. I’m looking for Ulysses S. Mast.
Ulysses: Who the fuck are you?
Brother Michael: My name is Brother Michael. I serve as truancy officer for The Christian Brothers Academy and I do not tolerate being addressed with foul language.
Ulysses: You think I give a shit?
Brother Michael: No, but you will.
And with that Brother Michael punched Uncle Ulysses in the stomach, hurled him into the back of his car, drove him to school, dragged him by the collar through a vestibule full of boys, flung him into Latin class and proclaimed, “Brother Matthew, when our son Ulysses is able to catch his breath I believe his first words will be a most humble apology for being late. I will remain for a few minutes to make certain that is the case.”
This continued for four days. On the fifth day, my grandfather woke up at 5 AM to find Ulysses showered, dressed in a perfectly pressed school uniform, reading the Bible.
Grandpa: Are you actually going to school?
Ulysses: Yup.
Grandpa: At 5 AM?!
Ulysses: Yup.
Grandpa: Why?
Ulysses: Detention. I have to meet Brother Michael in the chapel in 45 minutes. We’re reading the parable of the prodigal son.
Grandpa: And you’re actually going?
Ulysses: Dad, you can only get beat to shit by a priest in front of your friends so many times. If you’re leaving now, since this was all your stupid idea, I’d appreciate a ride.
Ulysses never missed another day of school. By week 2 he’d met a new friend: tall, gangly, and shy, with the wildest mop of flaming red curls he’d ever seen. He invited him home for dinner. When Grandpa walked through the door that night and clapped eyes on dad for the first time he said, “You need a haircut.”
Ulysses: Ever hear of hello?
Grandpa: Hello, who are you, and why are you here?
Ulysses: His name is Denis Germano dad, he’s my friend, and I invited him home for dinner.
Grandpa: Germano. That sounds Italian. Are you Catholic?
Ulysses: Of course he’s Catholic! It’s The Christian Brothers Academy they’re ALL catholic.
Grandpa: Sweet Jesus. Adelaide!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Pour me a drink. Come to think of it, pour me 2 there’s a catholic in my house and I’m told he’s staying for dinner.
Years ago I asked if you remembered the first time you saw dad. You replied, “Well, I heard him before I saw him. I knew Ulysses had brought a friend home so I was playing downstairs, but I remember hearing this voice pleading with my father to forgive him for being Catholic and I got curious. I crawled up the stairs, peeked over the top of the last step, and there he was. It took him a minute to notice me but when our eyes met, it was love at first sight.”
It was NOT love at first sight for Dad, because you were a pudgy seven year old and he was fifteen. Four years later Ulysses had committed to the naval academy and my dad was bound for Holy Cross College in Boston where (not coincidentally) Father Gabriel was head of linguistics. After one year Daddy was fluent in Spanish,and Latin. Father Gabriel arranged for him to complete his education in Spain at the University of Madrid, where he lived for 3 years.
Daddy graduated at the height of the Vietnam war, in August of 1969, when all able bodied men were being drafted. He was headed home, but he was terrified. One day his favorite teacher Brother Emiliano found him sulking in the library.
Brother E: My friend Denis you are going home yet sadness sits on your face.
Denis: Yes Brother Emiliano.
Brother: This is because your country is applied in wartime?
Denis: Yes that’s right.
Brother E: You fear you will not receive a warm welcomed in Vietnam.
Denis: You hit it right on the head.
Brother E: Never am I hitting people. Not on the head or anywhere else. But I shall pray a thousand prayers for your soul when you die in Vietnam from your gunshot wounds.
Denis: Thank you brother, that is a great comfort.
Brother E: Although…….I am smelling perhaps you can be saved.
Denis: Really? How?!
Brother E: You must become translucent.
Denis: What?
Brother E: What is the word for which I am searching: Translator! Spend the time you are left learning Vietnam. When you return, enlist in translation. A man who can speak Vietnam is surely worth the weight of copper.
So that’s what dad did. He spent the summer holed up in The Biblioteca Nacional de España learning Vietnamese, returned to America, enlisted as a translator, and was deemed “unfit for service” about 5 minutes into his physical examination. It’s a LONG story I’ll tell you some other day.
To celebrate, Grandma Kay threw a “Denis Has Been Rejected By The Army!” party. You came of course, dressed to the nines so dad would notice you, and it WORKED. The moment you walked in he was stunned to stammering.
Denis: Virginia, hello, you’re not 8 anymore.
You: No Denis, I’m 16 now.
And the rest as they say, is history. You went on your first date the next day, and were married 2 years later on June 12th, 1971; in a catholic ceremony.
Anyway, speaking from my heart, and I believe every member of our extended family and all our friends would agree, watching your love grow and deepen over the past 55 years has been nothing short of NAUSEATING. Seriously, you two are disgusting. It’s one of the reasons why, even now, I don’t care for Valentine’s Day. Every year on this day, Dad would burst through the front door like a deranged, lovesick, Medieval knight, flowers in hand screaming, “It’s Valentine’s Day!!!!!!! Where is my lady fair???? I have come seeking her hand!!!!!” Then he’d find her, look at all us kids and say, “Be gone peasants. Go, tend to the fields, I’m taking this beautiful maiden upstairs to make Valentine’s Day magic!” Gross. Vile. Insert the sound of me gagging here. And it wasn’t just on Valentine’s Day, it was every day with the kissing and hugging and can somebody please shoot me so I don’t have to live with these two suckerfish anymore kinda gross. I have hated your lovey dovey theatrics my entire life until today, when I realized this is the last Valentine’s Day you two will ever celebrate.
I hear you stirring. Dad is talking to you. And no I’m not eavesdropping. Dad is partially deaf so when he thinks he’s whispering, he’s actually talking loud enough to wake the dead.
Denis: I love you Virginia.
You: I love you.
Denis: You are the love of my life.
You: And you are mine.
Denis: Did you know it’s Valentine’s Day?
Silence
Denis: I didn’t get you anything. Does that make me a bad husband?
More silence
Denis: I didn’t get anything because you’ve been in the hospital. I brought you home the moment they released you. Isn’t that the best present ever? We’re together.
You: Tell the man with the beard to go away.
Denis: Why love?
You: Because I don’t want him to see me like this.
Denis: Virginia, the man with the beard is me, Denis, your husband. In four months we will have been married for 55 years. I will always want to see you no matter what. You are my lady fair. In sickness and in health, till death us do part.
You: Do you love me?
Denis: I do. For however much time we have left and longer. Happy Valentine’s Day.
