My grandfather was the proudest man I’ve ever known. He was comfortable with who he was, wore his Italian culture on his sleeve, and voiced his opinions often in his classically loud baritone way. A small business owner, dealing with furniture, a stand up comedian during World War 2, and a fantastic story teller in his later years: that was my grandfather.
Christmas in our quaint two bedroom apartment in Brooklyn started immediately after Thanksgiving. He’d plaster his cheesy, one dimensional, paper decorations all over the apartment, in every room, even the bathroom. The front door was covered with Santa Claus’ greetings and the 6th story window was framed with large colored bulbs. He made a small chimney out of cardboard and wrapped it in faux brick paper, for the effect of course. Then he’d stick an oversized blow up doll of Santa Claus in it and declared the Christmas season had begun.
These were magical times for me. The whole idea of Santa Claus traveling to my house to deliver gifts was beyond amazing. He’d tell me stories of the time he actually saw Santa Claus, live and in person, when my mother was a child. This only fueled my imagination with endless possibilities.
In his spare time, he was either painting in his closet or baking. Italians express themselves through food. My grandmother was the traditional Italian cook. She never did anything differently, always the same, reliable, Italian fare. My grandfather, being the artist he was born to be, would make fantastic messes in my grandmother’s kitchen, which would lead to dramatic flare ups and eventual evictions for Grandpa Fly from the kitchen.
But every Christmas he did it right. He’d take out his Mother’s 19th century, hand written, recipe of struffolis out from his little tin box and get to work. For those who aren’t familiar, they are small balls of dough, infused with anisette, and deep fried in glorious oil. After they were fried, he’d lather them with honey and candied sprinkles. Sometimes he’d sneak me a shot of anisette when my grandmother wasn’t looking.
He’s also made us zeppoles, which is essentially deep fried dough with tonnes of powdered sugar on them. For a kid who loved sweets, this was my favorite time of year.
We’d buy a real tree down the block, lug it home on foot; and then he’d saw off the end and stick it in a tree stand. He always said the trunk of the tree needed to be cut so that it’d last longer. I have no idea whether this was true or not. All I do remember was the force he’d administer to saw that damned trunk apart. The decorations were something out of the 1920’s. My grandmother would literally string popcorn together and wrap it around the tree. Throughout the month of December, Christmas music would be playing, from real vinyl records, never from the radio. Sinatra was never played in his house, since he hated him. I think he knew one of Sinatra’s cousins and had a personal beef against him. Back then, Italians in the tri-state area all seemed to know one another. If you were in politics or owned a business, you vacationed in the same places and went to the same nightclubs.
Christmas eve was for the kids. My grandparents would wake at 5:30 am to a boiling pot of black coffee. He’d start his “gravy” with braciole, sausages and meatballs. The spread was kid-friendly: sweets, home made anti-pasta, linguini with sauce and meats, baked macaroni with cheese, lots of bread, roasted sausages, peppers, onions with potatoes, and of course lasagna. My sister and I would run around like wild animals, playing hide and seek, then open our presents at night. When we woke up the next day, like magic, Santa Claus’ presents had arrived and we were smitten with joy.
Christmas day was a traditional Italian holiday, one that pushed the annoying kids aside and celebrated the birth of Christ. Coincidentally, my Grandmother’s birthday was Christmas Day too (Happy birthday Grandma!), so it was a really big deal in my house.
Seafood of all kinds was made. He favored mussels, clams and shrimp. I hated all of that stuff, so I usually ate leftovers from the night prior. But I remember how happy they all were, dancing and celebrating over plates of their favorite food and glasses brimming with wine.
You only realize how special things are when they’re gone.
Cheers to the past and to making new memories.
Merry Christmas.
NOTE: My grandparents would play this song every Christmas and every Christmas remind me that my Uncle would always cry when he heard it. To this day, I have no idea why he’d cry.
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Thank you Fly. For that and everything else here. Merry Christmas to you.
A beautiful story Fly …So thankful for my God and Savior, Christ. ALL other religions is about MAN trying to reach up to find God, but with Christianity God reaches down to MAN to offer salvation…Merry Christmas!!
So you are trying to convince us all to join your religion? Great Oh, well, at least this is a rest from the posters who try to convert us to their Right Wing political beliefs.
Right wing is definitely better than left wing. Go hang out with Sharpton and believe all the cops are bad. Oh while you are at, get out of the stock market. The stock market is only for right wingers; lefties need to go live in a commune type setting and bitch about how hard their lives are and try to get right wingers to pay their way.
I don’t believe any of that stuff you said, and I am progressive. But I don’t expect a Right Winger to be in touch with reality.
My tribe is all good. Your tribe is all bad. Blah Blah Blah. Ridiculous.
thanks for sharing, Herr Fliege … Happy Holidays!
Dr. Fly – wonderful write up. There’s a local morning radio show I listen to while commuting. One of the hosts is from New York, and mentioned his fond memory for the WPIX Yule Log. I thought of you at the time and wondered if it was something you remember from the past? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7_fje-Xxl0Q
YES! The WPIX yule log!
That is great.
There is a streaming version now.
http://pix11.com/2014/12/24/merry-christmas-watch-the-wpix-yule-log-here-starting-at-8-p-m-christmas-eve/
cool
Money is only good for keeping the wolf away from the door. Those memories are where the real worth is. Thanks for sharing. I’m also lucky enough to come from an Italian family. We’re loud but we’re cool!!
Merry Christmas Fly
Buon Natale!
Excellent! Thanks.
Merry Christmas All.
Fly, my life is very much richer for being able to come here every day and read your analysis.and prose. Even though my brokerage account is very much poorer for following you into stupid boat stocks.
Damned boat stocks.
Feliz Navidad as they say in California.
Merry Christmas IBC’ers.
HOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO
Fantastic Xmas story. Thanks, Fly.
I expect your Uncle cried at the song because he was touched by some kind of memories that the song reminded him of. Memories can be wonderful, as is your story.
Thanks for that, great writing.
Merry Christmas.
thanks
I’m Jewish and I liked this story. Happy and peaceful season to all, and btw, it’s mussels.
thanks. Corrected. I wrote this at 3:30 am
For those who are curious, yes that is an actual family photo on the front page. Grandpa Fly is one of those gents.
So, Grandpa Fly truly is pictured on the front page!! My best guess is the gent just to the left of the drapery… he looks the most troubled. The jovial chap in the front bottom left looks like an actor, but I can’t place him….??? Hmmmm.
http://ibankcoin.com/flyblog/files/2014/12/1465395_10151768433024220_1012401131_n.jpg
Hint: he is sitting down
2nd guess would then be the gent sitting dead-center. He’s smiling, but has a troubled look in his eyes.. Can you think of the actor I’m referring to that looks like the man in the bottom left?
I would say the man in the grey suit sitting on the far front left is Grandpa Fly.
Greatness. Merry Christmas, Dr. Le Fly. Thanks for everything.
FIG FIG FIG
Nice story, Medicus. May visions of Nasdaqs dance in your head.
Very good. I actually think you write better when you’re real, reflective and less cynical or maybe I just like a different tone now and then.
Great story and photo. Happy xmas.
Merry days Flyers
Happy Birthday Jesus, and Grandma Fly!
Being Italian however a bit younger than you, my Christmas memories are similar only with the added twist of 9 hours of VHS recordings of Godfather I, II and III
We make zeppoles with anchovies, without any kind sugar or sweets and they’re not as dense. Also, we do same fish dish, but on the eve and similar pasta and meat dishes on Christmas day. Of course no Christmas is complete without some dramatic flare up in the kitchen, lol. Boun Natale
Great memories. Christmas time is the best for making lasting memories of family love and fun for children,
I’m Dutch,and many of my memories are scary, with Zwarte Piet ready to put me in his bag and carry me away because I was naughty. After Dec 6, Sinterklaas day, was over, I was much happier.
Merry Christmas.
Joyful post as it reminded me of my youth.
As an aside were having 27 for dinner this
year -very special.
Grandpa Fly would be sitting next to grandma. She’s front and center. It’s her birthday too and would make no sense for her to be further back. In those days men were seated near their wives. Fly gets his good looks from the man behind grandma fly. Might very well be his father in the photo too.
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Great writing, Sir !!!
I read it to the wife (former English teacher) …
… she enjoyed it very much !
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After reading the post I even played the Drummer Boy video at the end.
Much like your Uncle … I teared up a bit !
Merry Christmas !!!
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“You only realize how special things are when they’re gone.”
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So very true !!!
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Grandma fly was standing. Wrong again
Why would Grandpa sit and Grandma stand? That’s not the etiquette of the day. This has upset me. More than owning a silver miner going into 2015.
Beautiful post Le Fly.
My guess is Grandma Fly is the brunette in front of the drapes in the back. Grandpa Fly is left front wearing the light grey suit.
Grandma fly- woman on right touching older woman
Merry Christmas to you and your family Fly.
Loved reading memories of your Christmas past as it reminded me of mine. It was very moving. I too tear up when I hear that song! Merry Christmas!
Nice piece, you sentimental bastard.
Such a grand story. My grandparents lived in the Bronx, so much of my story is similar.
I am one of the few who can’t stand teh struffolis though.
You’re as a good a writer as Hemingway Fly, no bullshit. Love the story