Papa's Shoes [Explored]

Bigger is better

 

 

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Story written by Gaetano P. Matteazzi.

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Most little boys dream of one day stepping inside their daddy’s shoes…and trying them on for size. Two of my all time favourite family photos are of David and Michael, when they were each 3 years old, standing in my shoes. I melt whenever I see those pictures.

I know when I was a little boy…I tried on my Papa’s shoes. They were too big for me. I always dreamed of one day fitting in them. But…even now…although my feet are actually larger than those of my father…Papa’s shoes are still too big…way too big…for me to ever fill. You see…

My father 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 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, tending after cattle and ploughing the fields. He was 12 years old when war broke out…he was 18 when it ended. I have heard the atrocities that my poor father saw as a child…I will not repeat them here. Let me just say, no child should be exposed to what my father witnessed with his own eyes. Yet, to this day he never speaks with resentment as to how he was treated or what he saw. 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.

My father was a top student but a grade 4 education was all that was available at the time. He went no further. To this day, he can barely read or write English. But never assume he is stupid. My dad is very bright. I have 3 university degrees, but I have to be on my “A game” to even have a chance of beating him in a debate.

My father immigrated to Canada when he was 25 because there was no economic opportunity at the time. Like most immigrants, he dreamed of a better life for himself, and his future family. So, he packed a suitcase full of little more than wishes and aspirations and set sail for a new land – a land 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, no French and no one…at all.

My father was working on the rails in Alberta within a week of arriving in Canada. He worked there for 2 years and then moved to Ontario where he worked as a bricklayer and later in a factory. He sponsored and supported a brother, a sister and his future wife, to come to Canada, while sending a portion of his income to assist his family in Italy.

My father loved Canada…but he was often wounded by the racism that he encountered in those early years. Yet, he taught me not to fight back with fists…but with decency, reason and intellect.

My father has hands that are large, strong and rough…and some of his fingers are slightly twisted out of shape. That is the product of years of hard manual 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.

So you see…how could I…a man not worthy to even stand in my father’s shadow…ever be able…to stand in his shoes? Even if I could…I would never dream of it…for Papa never had his first pair of shoes…until he was 18.

 

 

 

June 2010.

 

 

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On Explore - thanks all!

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