My grandmother, also known as Nana to us, was a first generation American. Her father was from Italy, and although her mother was born in Italy, she grew up in the US. While Nana wasn't a rocket scientist or an ardent feminist making significant contributions to society, she had a strength and perseverance I draw upon today.
My nana was one of eight children, and she was never one to back down from a fight. In fact, I suspect she liked nothing better than arguing for the sake of arguing. In many respects, she had a difficult child; her oldest brother died when she was a baby; her father was a rancher; she was a child of the Depression. She left school twice; the first time, eighth grade, she had whooping cough, from which she recovered. The second time, though, was tenth grade; she left to help support her family by working in a canning factory in their small town. She never went back.
She loved and respected her papa, my great-grandfather, so when he found a husband for her, she agreed to marry William. She was 20. William, or Bill as he was commonly known, was also a first generation American, and he married to please his parents. Nana and Bill settled in Cokedale, a small coalmining town west of Trinidad, Colorado, where Bill went to work in the mines. Nana's brother, Ralph, also worked in the mines, as well as a brother-in-law. My mother was born in this village, in a shack on a hillside that had no running water or electricity. Life was hard for Nana and Bill in the camp.
Although Bill wanted to join the military when WW2 started, he couldn't. What he could do, however, was move to Seattle and become a longshoreman. It was a well-paying job, and it helped the war effort. Nana and Mom followed once he was settled. From what I know of my grandparents, Nana was the extrovert, Bill was the introvert. She liked going out and partying with friends, while Bill preferred staying home. They fought frequently and loudly, Nana out-yelling Bill. By the end of the war, Nana and Bill divorced, a shocking act in the 1940s. Mom and Nana came back to Colorado, while Bill stayed in Washington for several more years.
Divorce 'stained' Nana, but she kept moving forward. Not even an hysterectomy at age 36 stopped her. However, her temper grew worse, and she began to take her frustrations out on my mom. Nana was a city girl who was born and raised in the country, and the life in a small town took a toll on her. By 1950, after being humiliated by a priest in church for being divorced, Nana decided to marry Pete, and ended up staying married to him for the next 54 years. Pete was a pervert and a horrible man, but my mom and I always thought that after causing her father disappointment over her first divorce, she didn't want to cause him any further pain or embarrassment with a second divorce. We never could figure out what she saw in him.
Nana and Pete moved to California in search of a better life in 1952, leaving my mom in Colorado with her grandparents. Nana wanted my mom to have a good education, so she kept her in Catholic school for 12 years, scrimping and saving to pay the tuition. She visited when she could, and she sent money when she could. However, by 1955, she wanted my mom in California with her, and so my mom moved to North Hollywood, where they were living, to complete her senior year.
Nana lived in poverty nearly all her life. She and Pete bought their first home in 1974; prior to that, she had always been a renter. Yet, as poor as they were, Nana delighted in grandchildren, bringing us kid treasures: slinkys, toys, bubble gum. I still have my first Pooh bear that Nana gave me when I was four. I slept with him for years. We never lacked for affection, love, or stuff where Nana was concerned.
What I most remember about her was her sense of fun. One night she decided she was going to teach me to blow bubbles with bubblegum. She brought home a large bag filled with gumballs, and our evening was spent chewing, flattening, molding, and blowing until I mastered bubbles. Nana favored bright red nail polish, so each time I spent the night, she painted my nails for me. When we stayed over, my brother could be pretty naughty, so Nana would go and "call my dad" to tell him what my brother was doing. We really believed she did that, until the night the phone rang while she was "talking to my dad." Actually, she'd go over, lift the receiver, pretend to dial, and then hold the buttons down so it just seemed like she was talking. Once it rang on her, she could never use that trick again.
Another night, Nana gave us flashlights, and we laid on her bed, flashing our lights on the ceiling and walls, learning how to make shadow puppets while she told us stories of her childhood. One story I will never forget involved a bear and her papa. Because their ranch was so far out of town, they had a hard time getting to school in the winter, so they had to go and stay with their grandmother Nucci. Nana and Grandma Nucci did not get along, so it sounded like time was pretty tough. One day, Nana saw her papa on horseback, coming to visit them, and he had a bear strapped to the horse. He knew his children needed meat, so he killed the bear and brought it for them to eat. Nana remembered the meat being gristly, greasy, and completely unpleasant to eat, but Grandma Nucci made her eat it.
My childhood was richer because of Nana. I have much more to say, especially this: I miss her every day.
