[larger] Today is my father’s 87th birthday. Arthur P. Giacalone was born in Lodi, NJ, to Italian-immigrant parents, on Feb. 26, 1919. For most of his working life, “Art” was a “mail man” for the U.S. Post Office (on walking routes in neighborhoods in Rochester, NY). In retirement, he drove a school bus until hitting the maximum age limit of 70. (With his perfect safety record, why didn’t his two lawyer sons fight that ageist rule? He probably would have told us to mind our own business).
I wish it were possible to give Dad his good health back. Instead, the best I can do is to let him know how much his three children, his wife, and his five grandchildren love him, and appreciate how hard this humble man worked to raise his family and set us off into the wider world.
Click here to see my Dad with his three children on Easter 1954.
And click here to see him in 2005 with his two youngest grandchildren.
I’m a lucky man to reach the age of 56 and have both of my parents alive. Dad, as always, I send my love and wish you all the best.
My friend Yu Chang has written many poems that set an appropriate tone today.
of my father’s smile
pumpkin patch —
this one is big enough
for my son
in black and white
early bird special
the cracked heart
you got home safely
mountain lake –
in your reflection
………………….. Yu Chang – all from Upstate Dim Sum
“old passport” – (2001/II); The Loose Thread: RMA 2001
“pumpkin patch” & “winter woods” – (2005/I)
“old birch” – Upstate Dim Sum (2001/I)
“early bird special” – (2004/II)
“winter solstice” – (2005/II)
dagosan has penned a few, too, that are dedicated to Art Giacalone.
dad rather not
talk about it
dad’s 87th birthday
visiting parents —
faces and refrains
rainy night drive —
squinting at glare
through dad’s eyes
that little grunt
dad always made–
putting on my socks
……………………….. by dagosan