Medicina

The greatest gift is knowledge

To be righteous and just to others

You will know the gift when it comes

All things will be brighter and look cleaner

And you will feel stronger and sure of yourself

~ Gemini Joe ~

y grandma used to come over once in a while. Little Nonie, we called her, but her name was Carmella. There was plenty of room for all of us, but grandma lived eight blocks from our apartment in her own little home. I don’t know how a little old lady was able to get a house like that. It was in Coney Island. Anyhow, most of the people who owned homes with land would build little bungalows for summer people who would rent them for the season so they could come to the beach. That was pretty smart.

My mom had to go to work because we needed the extra money. She was a seamstress at the textile company where they made pea coats for the Navy.

Mom would take me to my grandma to watch me for the day and kiss me goodbye. I would have to wait for my mom to come and get me. Sometimes she was working very late and I would have to wait until the next day for her to come and pick me up.

“I want my momma,” I cried.

My grandma was very patient with me.

“You momma, she be back,” she assured me and wiped my tears. “Mangia … eat this-a-roll. I putta extra butter ona for you.

After taking a bite, I did feel better … until it was gone.

“Be a gooda boy and we go-a to the beach.”

I loved going to the boardwalk at Coney Island so I ran to put my shoes on.

“That’s-a…the wrong feet,” my grandma said, looking at my shoes. “Here, Nonie gonna help you.” She bent down, fixed my shoes and then picked up her purse and took my hand.

In Coney Island, believe it or not, there were trolley cars running. That’s how old I am. When my grandma wanted to get from one point to another, she used the trolley car. We stood outside and waited for the trolley that passed by the house to the beach. She always told the conductor that I was under a certain age, and there was no charge, but after a few years, the conductor got a little upset.

“Now wait a minute,” he said. “This has been going on for three years. The boy is old enough to pay.”

“My grandson is only-a three,” Carmella lied. “He ride-a free.”

“This boy is at least five years old.”

Straightening her back, she repeated, “He’s-a four.”

My grandma would fight with the conductor and I was so frightened because I didn’t want my grandma to fight.

“Pay, Nonie, please pay,” I pleaded.

“That’ll be ten cents,” the bus driver said.

Grandma gave him a nickel.

Sensing she wouldn’t back down and pay the ten-cent fare, the conductor mumbled and let me on for half price.

I scrambled onto a seat near the window so I could watch the people go by. When the trolley stopped at the boardwalk, we stepped off. Excited, I ran ahead.

Grandma had arthritis in her joints, making it hard for her to walk.

“Lento … slow down,” she warned, “or we go-a home.”

Well, that made me stopped. While I waited for Nonie to catch up, I looked up at the parachute tower that loomed above my head. People were dropping out of the sky and I thought for sure they would splatter onto the ground, but the ropes and parachutes stopped them from crashing. The sheer terror of falling made me close my eyes.

We walked along the boardwalk, listening to the music, and I breathed in the sweet smell of corn-on-the-cob, dripping with melted butter. People were eating them on a stick.

“Can we get corn, Nonie?”

“Tardi … later,” she said and continued to walk.

We came to the merry-go-round, and I loved that. The music was going and the lights were bright. It was so cheerful.

“Can I ride the merry-go-round, Nonie?” I asked. “Please!”

She gave me a nickel and I was happy and ran to get on my favorite horse.

Some of the horses were running straight, but I loved the ones who went up and down, because I liked that action. I had one special horse. It was a black horse with a white mane and a white tail. I don’t think horses came that way, but I wouldn’t go on the ride unless I got that horse. I never named the horse, but today I would have called it Blackie. It was my horse.

As the merry-go-round moved, kids reached for a gold ring to win a free ride. Once in a while, I would catch it and then I could ride around again. If I didn’t, well, the ride ended.

When I got off, I noticed my grandma drinking from a small, silver bottle.

“Can I have some, Nonie?”

“No, baby, this is mia medicina.”

Grandma always had a little medicine in her pocketbook, which in Italian she said was her medicina. I knew what it really was, but I made believe it was medicine for my grandma.

After drinking enough from her bottle, she spoke only Italian.

I began to pick it up, but whenever my dad heard me speaking Italian, he would yell, “We’re in America. Speak English!”