My grandfather, Bartholomew Palvario, known as Pop, was my biggest role model when it comes to giving.
I’ve written about it.
How when I was so small, watching him rake leaves, shovel snow and bake bread not only for his family, but for the whole neighborhood deliriously happy to just give.
I’ve been struggling a lot with people who can’t accept generosity without lashing out in some way.
I had a particularly disturbing encounter with a fella I know who said my constant thoughtfulness was boring the shit out of him…a direct quote.
It bothered me so much, I got up, excused myself and left the restaurant. I went home, took a tearful bath before shutting off the phone knowing this person would more than likely call to apologize.
After crying myself to sleep, my nightlight suddenly went on in the bathroom. When I opened my eyes my grandfather in his long white apron, the baker that he was, stood at the foot of my bed.
I sat up rubbing my eyes. “Pop, is that you?”
He smiled before evaporating like steam.
It was only then the nightlight that only stays on if you’re in it’s vicinity went out.
Was it real? Did I dream it? Was it the half of Valium I took to calm my nerves? All I know is my upset, like steam, evaporated, telling me all was well in my world.