SUMMER FUN

In the early 1960s, Dad was stationed at March AFB in Riverside, California. We lived at 5383 Crest Ave. and I thought that we had it made. A new house in a new community and I got to be an 8th grader. I can remember feeling that I had finally arrived. Arrived where, I'm not sure.

That summer, Gramma Mongelli invited me to stay for school vacation with her & Joe at their home in Fresno, California. Imagine, no school or big brother chores, just summer fun and visiting with my grandparents. Not only that, but I knew the turf from when we used to live next door to them. I had school chums who had motorcycles and go-karts and we even knew a couple of girls our age.

Grampa Joe was usually at work but Gramma was a joy to be around. She would fawn over me and tell me how smart I was, despite the fact that I was pretty ordinary. She'd fix meals especially for me and I could have all the sweets I wanted. One particular day, she took me to the movies, a huge treat back then. We went to see "Hercules, Unchained," a deep thinking film, where you had to be at least two years old to follow the story line. It starred Steve Reeves, who was the Arnold Swartzenegger of his day, although Steve never was the governor of California.

Every time Steve, or rather Hercules, would lift something heavy over his head, like a chariot, with the rider and horses still attached, Gramma would say, "Madune," in Italian, which is not spelled correctly and was never officially translated for me but which I suppose means..."Oh my goodness."

Gramma was always prim and well groomed. I never saw her with her hair a mess or her clothes sloppy. She was dignified, clean, kind, thoughtful...consistently. Gramma valued me, not because I was special, but because I was family and because that was Gramma. She loved us all, and I'm sure, would have died for us. That's why we loved her back, she never stopped giving.

After the movie, she asked if the nutritionally sound popcorn, bon bons and milk duds had filled me up or was I ready for some dessert. Not wanting to be rude, I mentioned that I might be able to wolf down some ice cream. So we stopped at the Carnation Ice Cream Shoppe, sort of the Baskin & Robbins of the age and I had a Carnation Special. It consisted of a slightly large banana split with seven scoops of different flavored ice cream.

Not wanting to freeze to death, or waste a single morsel, I slowly finished off the entire entree while Gramma watched and asked questions about the movie. Things like, "How could he pick up that chariot? or "Could he really fight ten big men at once." I fielded every question with ease, between gulps, of course. She always acted amazed at my answers and said I was a genius. However, I never could really discover, if I was such a genius, why wasn't I paying for my own ice cream? Her one scoop of vanilla was finished in the first five minutes. After I finally got it all down, she asked if I enjoyed it. I said something intelligent, like, "Yea, Gramma, it was great, but it sure is cold in here."

In the days that followed, I spent time with my friends at Rhoding Park just about two blocks from Gramma's house, riding my bike with my friends looking at the animals in the zoo and laying under tall trees, eating the bag lunch she had prepared for me. Today, that same park is full of gays and drug peddlers, pushing dope to kids. As the years have flown by and I look into the mirror and see an old man, it isn't too hard to figure why I can hardly remember what it was like with my friends, but I'll never forget Gramma.