Grandpa by Lisa Dempsey

When I first met my future father-in-law, it was hate at first sight. I nicknamed him “The Irish Archie Bunker”. He was nasty, disagreeable, obnoxious, unpleasant, prejudiced, sexist and judgmental. (Now let me tell you how I REALLY feel!!!) I heard story after story from family and friends of how he used to be fun, loving, and pleasant, but I just could not believe they were talking about the same man. I knew he’d had a rough life. His dad had died real young and left him responsible for taking care of his mom and 3 brothers. He had multiple health problems, a business stolen out from under him by someone he trusted, and some harrowing and disturbing experiences while serving in The Korean war (which he would not talk about). These things certainly affected him deeply. I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt for a long time, find ways to love him and appreciate him, (or just tolerate him) but he was just miserable. He was not a nice Grandfather either, and he and I had a number of “heated discussions” about how he would belittle my daughter or mercilessly tease her, bringing her to tears.

One of our bigger fights was about religion and the decision that Ed and I made to forego any organized religion for our children. He knew I was an atheist, and was not happy when we told him we would not baptize his grandchildren. Being devout Catholics, he and my mother-in-law (a saint if there ever was one) were worried that the children would not be welcomed into the Kingdom of Heaven without it. He said I would regret it, I said I’d felt this way since I was 19 years old and that my feelings would not change. He said “stranger things have happened”…..(one of his many favorite expressions). He remained miserable.

Then a funny thing happened. I had another baby. He told my mother-in-law that THIS one was “his”. He was now realizing that when Melanie came to visit, she rushed directly into my mother-in-laws arms for hugs and kisses, then to Uncle Jimmy. She had to be prodded to even say hello to him. She was afraid of him and didn’t like him. As she grew older, he saw how much he’d missed by being so stodgy and mean. His own granddaughter didn’t want to be with him!!

From the moment Delaney was born, she WAS his!! He was caring and funny, generous and loving. He called her “Sweet Pea” and played games with her. Melanie was now seeing a different “Pop-pop”. He was softer with her and so wonderful, she was loving him up as well! Now, don’t get me wrong, he was still difficult and ornery about most things, especially about religion. He was still pissed that we didn’t baptize the kids. But whenever the kids were concerned, he was a changed man. Delaney never once saw the mean Pop-pop, so she was crazy about him, and they were very close.

When Delaney was 8, I woke up about 3AM to hear her talking. When I went into her room, she was staring into the corner, nodding her head and saying something about water. Now, she had had imaginary friends when she was younger, but the conversations she had with those friends were animated and lively. That night it was almost as if she was in a trance. I figured I knew what I was seeing. As a child, I was a sleepwalker and a sleeptalker. I’ve been told that I’d had entire conversations with my mother that didn’t make sense, emptied toy boxes into bathtubs and done all sorts of other crazy things in my sleep. I outgrew those episodes by about 9 or 10. I’d never seen her do it before, but I figured I was seeing what my mother experienced with me as a child.

Here is the conversation as I remember it:
Me: Who ya talking to, honey?
Delaney: Pop-pop
Me: Well, it’s the middle of the night. You have school tomorrow. Let’s go to sleep now. You can call and talk to him tomorrow.
Delaney: No, I can’t. Pop-pop says he has to go.
Me: Where is he going?
De: I don’t know, but it’s far away. ….Mommy?
Me: What, babe?
De: Pop-pop says I don’t have to be baptized.
Me: well, I’m glad to hear that.
(she’s still staring into the corner and speaking in monotones)
De: He says I don’t have to have cold water on my head, I will still see him in Heaven anyway (we’d never talked to the girls about Heaven, but I figured my in-laws had)
Me: of course you will, a long time from now….
De: He says I HAVE to go to college, that he has some money for me to go, right? (asking the empty corner) But not enough, so I still have to get a job.
Me: (laughing) Good…’cuz college is real expensive….(trying to lay her down now) What are you looking at?
De: Pop-pop...I TOLD you...he’s telling me all the STUFF before he goes.
Me: (now feeling a little queasy) Like what?
De: like he loves me…(nodding her head at the wall) and he loves YOU too…
(Now I look to the corner, but there’s nothing there)
De: ‘Night, Pop-pop, love you too (then she looks at me and says “Can I have bologna for lunch tomorrow?” and lays down and falls right to sleep)

After that it took me a long time to fall back asleep as I told myself it meant nothing, rationalizing that she’d been sleepwalking. The next morning, I asked her about it and she remembered absolutely NOTHING. She said she was so tired the night before that she fell asleep right away and didn’t wake up until I woke her up for school. I told the kids a little of the conversation, she said it was ME who must’ve been dreaming. She and Melanie were laughing, and I said “yeah, like Pop-pop would ever admit that I was actually right….” and both girls, almost simultaneously said “Hey, stranger things have happened” and we all got a good laugh out of it. I felt much better and got them off to school.

I was just about to leave for work when I got the call from my mother-in-law. She said that my father-in-law had died the night before. Later, the coroners report would put the time of death at around 3am (just the time my daughter was talking in her room). A few days later I learned that he had set up college funds for both my daughters. Not a lot, but a start.

To this day, I’m not sure what to make of it. Delaney still has no memory of it. I tell myself sometimes that it didn’t happen, that I DID dream the whole thing. I’m not clairvoyant at all, and the timing is too coincidental NOT to mean anything. I didn’t feel anything, or experience anything. There was no light in the room, no “energy” or feeling or breeze or smell. No funny buzzing noises or weird coolness. It was a regular night. But SHE felt something (even though she doesn’t remember it). What to make of him “telling” her that she didn’t need to be baptized after all, that she’d still get to see him in heaven? Or him “telling” her he had stuff to tell her before he had to “go”? What to make of the college funds that she mentioned that no one knew about? She was 8 years old, we had NEVER talked to her about college at that point.
And something else...she has NEVER walked or talked in her sleep again. As far as I know, it was a one-time thing. So was it really the same type of sleepwalking I'd experienced as a kid, or something entirely different? I’d like to say “Stranger things have happened”, but it’s simply not true...this is THE strangest thing that’s ever happened to me.

The Famous (or Infamous) Meatball Story by Lisa Dempsey Callaghan

I grew up in a house where we had to finish everything on our plates, (you know, because there are kids starving in China) and if we didn't, we had to sit there until we did (then we fed it to the dog once my parents retired to the living room). 
One night we were having spaghetti and meatballs and my brother didn't finish his plate. My parents went inside WITH the dog, since they had gotten wise to that trick, instructing us to make sure he ate the rest of his dinner. We drank the rest of the soda from our 2 litre plastic bottle of Pepsi. My brother was whining that he didn't want the stupid meatball so he turned the bottle over and mushed the meatball into the opening and down the neck of the bottle. Then he turned it back over and slammed both sides of it between his hands...the meatball went flying up and hit the ceiling...SPLAT!!! WE laughed our asses off...it was the funniest thing we'd ever seen!! My other brother wanted to try, and I joined in as well. We all kept taking turns, trying to make a bigger splat, adding spaghetti and more sauce in the mix with the meatballs, and as it all fell back down on us the table (AND the counter, AND the floor) was getting more and more disgusting.

My mother hears all the commotion and is annoyed that we are not sufficiently subdued while we are finishing our dinner, and comes in...She sees that the whole table is covered with sauce and spaghetti and opens her mouth to reprimand us. All of a sudden a big piece of meatball just falls down from the ceiling and hits her arm. She looks up and the ceiling is COVERED with red splatters, sauce everywhere, there's meatball pieces on the ceiling, still falling back on the table as she stood there, spaghetti hanging everywhere....She just stood there for a minute in stunned disbelief, while we still giggled like idiots....THEN the screaming started!!!

It never occured to us that the ceiling couldn't simply be wiped down like the table or countertop...we didn't even KNOW that the ceiling was made of stucco (a textured, pointy plaster and sand rough finish, instead of a flat, smooth finish) which made it easier for the meatballs and spaghetti to STICK to it, but also made it close to impossible to clean. There was no washable paint back then, so even when she scrubbed it real good it was completely stained...and the whole ceiling had to be repainted. We had a family room that attached to the kitchen with no molding on the ceiling, and you couldn't just paint the kitchen part because you'd see the demarcation where the paint stopped, so it was a much bigger job than it looked.

When we were finally allowed out of our rooms (and could comfortably walk again...LOL) were we willing to joke about it (to each other ONLY, we were not stupid enough to do it in front of our parents) we used to sing "On top of Spaghetti, all covered with cheese, I lost my poor meatball, when somebody SQUEEZED" which then became "On top of spaghetti, all covered with sauce, I lost my poor meatball (WHERE?) on the CEILING of course..."

Years later we used to joke that Mom's kitchen was our favorite Italian restaurant, "The only place where the food and the decor were made of the same good stuff."

Since my one brother has been estranged from the rest of the family on and off (mostly off) for many years, this is the one story we still talk about when he is ON with the family. My husband and my kids are known to groan "oh NOOOOOO, not the MEATBALL story again....." but we still giggle...Luckily, it got to the point finally that my mother could laugh as well, realizing how much fun it must've seemed to us, how dumbfounded she must've looked standing there while spaghetti fell on her...her description of it and her delivery was just so funny...

So whenever I think of the color RED, I don't see hearts and love and Valentines Day, I don't see Santa suits and red stockings to hang by the chimney, nor do I see Stop signs or traffic lights. I see that splattered ceiling and wonder how she didn't kill us. And I imagine how many bottles of wine were consumed by my parents just to get us to age 18......So today I think.... 

"A bottle of white, a bottle of RED, perhaps a bottle of rose instead...I'll meet you anytime you want in our Italian Restaurant

Brownie by Lisa Dempsey Callaghan

Lisa, her brother and Brownie

In the summer of 74, just before dinner time, I had just walked my dog Brownie. (yes, he was brown). We had a front porch with all screens around it and we were just inside it playing waiting for dinner to be ready. A friend of mine who lived down the block, Leslie, was walking her dog too. She carried a little transistor radio (I’m sure it was only AM back then, and this was years before the big boom boxes were popular). As she passed, I heard “Rock the Boat” I LOVED that song, so I ran out to catch her so we could listen together.

 Her dog was a great big sloppy lovey-dovey Dalmatian named Harvey or Harry, I can’t remember which. He loved me and hadn’t seen me all week, so he bounded to me in a run. I wasn’t expecting him to jump on me with that much force, so he knocked me right down and knocked the wind out of me. As I lay on the ground trying to catch my breath with the dog literally on top of me licking my face, Leslie was trying to help me up. My dog Brownie, interested in watching from the moment he saw another dog, must have seen this as an attack on me. This little brown mutt of mine gave a huge yelp and LEAPED through the screen, ripping it and running right up to this dog. He bared his teeth and growled and barked at Harry/Harvey in a threatening manner, lunging at him and snapping his teeth. Harry/Harvey, ordinarily a mild-mannered dog opened his mouth and closed his teeth over my dogs neck like it was a bone and shook him back and forth like a rag doll. Leslie and I started to scream.
Between the initial barking and the screen ripping and then both of our screams, my dad came running out. The neighbors came running over and helped separate the 2 dogs. My dog laid there in a broken heap. Her dog was still panting and growling. My father gathered Brownie up in his arms and rushed to the car. My mother and brother had come outside by this time. Mostly everyone was glad that WE (Leslie and I) were not the ones hurt. Everyone was crying and there was blood everywhere and I was SO scared.
My dad came home late that night without the dog but with the good news that he would be OK. We got him back a few days later but with a lot of damage to his neck, many stitches, and a drain that went THROUGH his neck. Every night my dad had to clean the wounds and empty and reposition the drain. The dog was in so much pain but so good about it. We started giving him Oreos to make him feel better. Eventually he was fine, just a few places on his neck that the fur never grew back.
It’s amazing how they say that a dog will protect the children of the house as if they are his own. I saw that first hand that day. He went up against a dog twice his size because he thought I was in danger. For a long time after, every time I heard “Rock the Boat” I’d get chills. But to this day, every time I hear the song, I think of Brownie, who lived with us happily to the ripe old age of 17.