My grandfather was the typical Italian. He knew everyone and anyone, including the Mafia men from the "old neighborhood." I guess this posed somewhat of a problem when his brother's work colleagues, all Chicago cops, were cruisung the parking lot at the wake, taking down license plate numbers while the mobsters ducked behind furniture and flower arrangements. It made for a pretty amusing sight, according to my mom.

My mom told me stories of how he would walk into other weddings, dance with the bride, and give wedding advice to the happy couple. He was the kind of guy everyone loved.

I wonder how it's possible to miss someone whom I've never met. Odder still, how is it possible to feel as if I did know him. I imagine what his voice would be like, his sense of humor. What would he think of me, what kind of relationship would we have, if he had lived?

When I used to spend the night at my grandmother's house, I'd ask her to pull out the old albums and letters that my grandfather wrote to her when he was in the war. I felt as if I had a part of him. What a trip to read letters written nearly fifty years before.

Despite my getting to know my grandfather through stories and letters, there is one picture that if I had to say exactly who my grandfather was, this would be the one I would choose: My grandparents are standing next to each other. My gram is talking to a table of people and my grandfather is looking mischieviously into the camera with his hand hovering near her backside. She has no clue what's going on. That's how I envision my grandfather: funny, playful, loving. I think he had a way of lightening the mood and making people laugh. Even at his funeral he managed to create a comical situations.

Happy Birthday, Grandpa. I wish I would have known you.