Papa
When I was a young boy I tried on my father’s shoes. Sadly, I soon found out that they were far too big. Even to this day my papa’s shoes have remained too large for me to fill. I take solace in the fact that he was no ordinary man.
My father was a quiet, soft spoken, unassuming man. He wasn’t loud or flashy like the countless celebrities who are marketed before us on a daily basis. His name was never on television, in the newspapers or on the radio. But my father’s name and legacy are where it matters most…in our hearts. This humble man, who I call papa, was a hero not just to me but to so many others.
My dad grew up during the depression and World War II in northern Italy. There was no time to play in my father’s youth. It was a time of abject poverty…a time of war…a time of struggling just to survive. He was 5 years old when he started to work on the farm. He was 12 when war broke out and would turn 18 before it ended, the same age when he received his 1st pair of shoes.
Growing up, I heard the atrocities that my father saw as a boy. No child should be exposed to what he witnessed. Yet, he never spoke with resentment as to how he was treated or what he endured. My dad taught me that war is horrible, that it brings out the worst in mankind, but one should forgive, work hard, help others, and judge a man not by his nationality, colour, or creed, but by his labour and integrity. He also taught me to stand up for what is right, and to battle not with fists…but with decency, reason and intellect.
My father was a top student but a grade 4 education was all that was available. He loved to read, excelled in math, and was exceptionally street smart. You had to be on your “A game” to even have a chance of beating him in a debate.
Papa immigrated to Canada when he was 25 because there was no economic opportunity where he lived. Like most immigrants, my father dreamed of a better life for himself, and his future family. So, he packed a suitcase full of little more than aspirations and set sail for a new land – a country with a different set of languages, customs, and culture. It was also a land without his beloved family or friends. My dad left for Canada…alone…knowing no English, and knowing there was no one there to greet him when he arrived.
Within a week my father was working on the rails in Alberta. He worked there for 2 years before moving to Ontario where he found employment as a bricklayer and later as a factory worker. It was fitting that he chose Port Credit to be his hometown. You see, the symbol of Port Credit is a lighthouse…and that is exactly what my father was to so many…a beacon - strong, stoic, made of granite…and a constant guiding light who shone hope and wisdom.
Papa helped sponsor and support a brother, a sister and his future wife, my mother, to come to Canada. For years he sent moneys to assist his family in Italy. Physically my father was the strongest man I ever knew, but his true strength was his courage, his iron will and his utter devotion to his family. He adored my mother, his wife of 62 years, his daughter in law Carla, his grandchildren, Jessica, Michael, David, his parents, his siblings and all his nephews and nieces. He loved each and every one of them and was proud of all their accomplishments.
If you ever saw my father’s hands you would have seen that were large, strong and calloused. Some of his fingers were slightly twisted and out of shape. That was the product of years of hard labour. I recall as a boy he would say to me, “See these hands?” “Don’t be like me…go to school…be better than me”. At the time, these comments did not always mean much. However, years later whenever I was tired or fed up with studying, I could hear my father’s voice saying “See these hands…don’t be like me…be better than me”. I would feel ashamed for having felt sorry for myself and would move on. The funny thing is, I could think of no one whom I would rather be like than my dad. I still can’t.
The truth is, as much as I wished I could fit in my father’s shoes, I could never do so. How could a man not worthy to even stand in his father’s shadow, ever be able to stand in his Papa’s shoes? I can only pay homage to him and thank God for having blessed all of us, particularly me, with such a good man…a great man - Placido Matteazzi…my papa.
Rest in peace papa. We love you.
~ Gaetano
