“Papa, I was in an accident a while back….”

This is how this all started. My father called me at 8:15 on a Friday morning in January. He calls me papa, an Italian term of endearment.

“Papa, I was in an accident a while back. The police came and I have to go to a magistrate on February the 9th. I told him to call a you, you are my daughter and will take care of it.”

I was confused. “Why do you have to go to court Papa, what happened?”

“I was driving the motor vehicle, I left very early because when I go to the medical doctor to get my blood test, there are plenty of people and I don’t like the lines. So I got up very early, and it was snowy, it was my fault of course, I cleared off a very tiny spot. But I drove slow, because the people all drive too fast and they make me nervous. So I drive slow near the edge of the road. Then, there is a car that is parked halfway in the road, and of course I don’t see it. And boom, I hit it. I stop, but the cars, they are all beeping and going fast around me. I get out, I look in the car, eh-no one is there. So I get back in and drive to the clinic, just 100 meters up the road. I tell the Latina at the desk to call a the police. And before she does, the police are there. He gives me a ticket, I don’t know what it means. Mah, I don’t hava my license, the bitch at the motor vehicle kept my license and my passport. They stole it from me. This government papa, it’s an awful thing.”

I’m reaching for my glasses and a pad and pen now, I need to take notes to sort this all out.

“Papa….” I ask him, “Papa, when did this happen? This week, last week?”

“No, papa, this happened this morning!”. He’s irritated.

I motion to my husband, just passing through the bedroom, to wait a minute.

“Papa, where are you now?”

“I’m home. Papa, I don’t have my car and I need groceries. The car service is so expensive, its $35 there and $35 back. And the driver he doesn’t want to wait for me at the Stop ena Shop.”

My father is of dual citizenship, having arrived from Italy in 1955 on the Andrea Doria, a year to the day before it sank. He met my mom in a publishing house were he worked as an account man and she worked as a secretary in the pool. She was 19. He was 25.

They married in 1959 and had me in 1962. Around 1964 they divorced and in 1969 he took a trip to Italy for business and didn’t return.

“Alright Papa, let me have Vic come up and look at the ticket and take you to the grocery. How did you get home?” My husband is a saint. He has been unemployed for two years, trying hard to get back in the groove and helping me out as well. My own busines is growing and takes up 110% of my time. My father wants the other 110%.

“No, papa, for Gods sake, don’t bother the man. I have a little pasta here, I’ll be ok.”

“No, he is in the area anyway. He’s happy to stop by. I need some things at Stop and Shop too, so he can pick that up for me.”

None of which is true.

“Oh, ok, well if it’s not a bother. I’ll be waiting.”

…and that’s how this all started.