Today’s Post by Joe Farace
More and more, when I single out the person out who inspired me most, I go back to my grandfather.”—
On the Sunday following Labor Day, National Grandparents Day honors the kind of love only grandparents can provide. (That’s a photograph Mary with her late grandmother.)
Grandparent’s Day
Celebrated in the United States since 1978, the United States Senate and President Jimmy Carter nationally recognized Marian McQuade of Oak Hill, West Virginia as the founder of National Grandparents Day. McQuade made it her goal to educate the youth in the community about the significant contributions that seniors have made throughout history. It was also her hope to have the youth “adopt” a grandparent, not just for one day or a year, but rather for a lifetime.
In February of 1977, Senator Randolph along with other senators introduced a joint resolution to the Senate that requested the president to “issue annually a proclamation designating the first Sunday of September after Labor Day of each year as National Grandparents Day. After Congress passed the resolution, on August 3, 1978, President Carter signed the proclamation. The statute cites the day’s purpose: “…to honor grandparents, to give grandparents an opportunity to show love for their children’s children, and to help children become aware of strength, information, and guidance older people can offer.”
Celebrating My Gramps
My two grandfathers could not be more different. I don’t have a single photograph of either of them but I have my memories.
Salvatore (Sam) Farace was an immigrant who was born in Sicily and emigrated to America with his brother Giuseppe. Sam was an entrepreneur, operating Sam Farace & Sons, making his living selling fruits and veggies in a stall on Baltimore’s legendary Lexington Marker. Like my father he was a man of few words and while I vividly remember many Sunday Chicken Fricassée dinners at my grandparents home and have a strong visual image of him in my mind, I don’t recall him talking much to us kids. Remember, I grew up in a world where “children were seen, but not heard.”
My Mother’s father, on the other hand, George was just the opposite. He was gregarious and I think he may have been in politics at one time. Because my maternal grandparents had 13 children—my Mom was the third youngest— I was one of many, many grandchildren in the family. Yet George took a special interest in me up until the time he passed away. What I remember most about him is that when I was a kid he would occasionally take me to a neighborhood saloon. And it was really a saloon, with swinging doors, sawdust on the floors along with strategically placed brass spittoons.
We would sit at a table in the saloon with his friends and he would buy me a bottle of sarsaparilla and a bag of shelled Planter’s Peanuts, I was allowed to sit at the table with the grown ups as they talked about sports, mostly boxing, and politics, while I was being seen, but not heard. But that was still a big deal to me. Here I was sitting in a saloon with the big boys who were smoking cigars and talking about world events. These memorable visits to what I later fictionally called Brady’s Bar—I don’t remember its the real name—still resonate with me all these years later.