A Little Bit of Happiness

This season has been particularly uncheerful for me. There are a variety of reasons, glum, adding up to me silently wishing it would all be over. There were parties we were invited to, didn't go. There's a stack of cards unattended to and shopping that never got done. I missed most of the specials on TV and even the annual barrage of yuletide tunes that I usually find so festive seemed more of an annoyance. I just don't care.

Now today, Christmas Eve has blasted through the door like a big fat entitled uninvited guest and I'm trying to hide in the closet. I certainly didn't think I'd find a hope of Christmas Eve salvation. I dropped Trace off at the fish store for dinner stuff and stood outside in the cold and the rain. The line was out the door. We were in Bensonhurst, where I am from. I only live a short distance away but I rarely get back here. None of my friends are still here, my father is gone and most of the places I spent my life in were long gone too. As I stood on the corner I remembered my Bensonhurst, a place so close to my heart that it beats with a Brooklyn accent. I love this place for it made me what I am mostly. As I looked up the avenue I saw the music store where I spent many many weekend days learning to play drums and guitar and worshipping the older kids who got to go to clubs and concerts. We'd sit in the store all day and I'd listen to the owner's son play guitar and tell tales of being in bands and going to shows. I learned so much of my humor, my love of music and my want to play anything that makes sound from those precious days. All the metal heads would stop by and some touring celebrities would come in for strings and things when they came through. I have many cherished memories dating back 27 years to that tiny building in that old Italian neighborhood.

I smiled to myself, hungry for something I couldn't find anywhere else and began walking toward the store. I stepped through the door and there were the owner, Big Mike and his son, Little Mike still stringing guitars, still arguing, still telling jokes and throwing things. The store hadn't changed much; there were guitars and drums and things all over the place. The employees were usually friends of the family in a constantly rotating cast. There was a six foot hero in plastic wrap on a row of amplifiers and a hungry looking group hovering. Mike looked up and recognized me with a huge smile. We hugged and laughed and told a few quick one liners and I felt tension melt, I felt home. There was always a stool by the counter for anyone to sit and hang out. I sat and made myself at comfy. Soon we were telling stories of old mobsters, actors, musicians and friends long dead. There was the ongoing argument started in 1984 about what an over rated guitarist jimmy page was. Stairway to Heaven was on and when the guitar solo came on, Fat Sal came sliding into the room and frantically picked up a guitar off the rack and played note for note in tune. He disappeared just as fast after the song ended. I looked around and felt so full of life and so full of memories that I just sat teary and for the first time in weeks I laughed hard.

Mike looked over and said, "Hey, Tommy, you remind me so much of your father, may he rest in peace. He was a good man." I asked, "Really?" "Oh yeah, you sound just like him, look just like him and that's good because you'll always keep him with you."

I really miss my father.

I went and saw The Old Man behind his desk, we smiles and shook hands warmly and spoke Italian, what little I still can. I really need to relearn.

For a brief time, I was home, in my old neighborhood. It was like the old days, my father would come bursting in the room any minute. We'd drink wine and tell more stories and laugh and cry and fight until it was time to go home.

You remember this song:

There are places I remember
All my life though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places had their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I've loved them all

But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more

Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more
In my life I love you more

 

 

Soon it was my time to head back out in the rain and the gloom but I was warmed now by tender reminiscence. Before I left, Mike bellowed to me from across the room, "Hey, Tommy, you can't leave without taking a piece of sandwich!" We unwrapped the giant hero and he tossed me a couple of pieces. Turkey, ham, roast beef, American cheese and a bit of antipasto spread for those wondering. "You should come by more" he growled in his thick Bensonhurst accent. I missed that, too. We hugged our Merry Christmases and I walked down the avenue eating my sammich. For the first time all season, I was happy.

So, to those I know and love both near and far, a Happy Christmas to you and those you keep close. May the season's warm embrace keep you comfy.

T