My father was a accomplished baseball player. Winning many titles as a young man. He played catcher. One day as he was playing in a big game against the cross town rivals and moved to make a play home plate. Instead of conceding that he was out the opposing player ran my father over. Now it is important to mention that this was before catchers wore full masks and instead wore only protective glasses. as the player slammed into my father the glasses broke and cut my father from the corner of his eye three inches towards his ear. He Finished the game at first base.
After the game he was taken to the hospital to be stitched. The doctor was an Italian man who only said hellp to my father in english. The rest of the one sided conversation was done by the doctor. who spoke in Italian, words and phrases that I am willing to bet we will not learn in the classroom. Knowing the man was angry after the stitches were put into his head my father thanked the doctor and quietly left the room.
Fast forward a few years ahead. My father walks into a living room for a “meet the parents” dinner with the women he had been seeing for some time. sitting at the head of the table was that Italian man who had stitched my fathers injury many years before
The Italian man was Dr. Frank Pessolano. My Grandfather.
I guess you could say they lived happily ever after