Nana (Part 1 of 2)
We didn’t have Grandmas when I was growing up. We had Nanas. I had two: Nana Fontaine (Mom’s side) and Nana Kyle (Dad’s side). But there was REALLY only one Nana to little Kevin: Nana Fontaine.
Born Viola Louisa Brizzlara in 1905, my Nana was raised on a pig farm in Secaucus, New Jersey. She remembered feeding the chickens and the pigs and milking the cows. Nana quit school in sixth grade to help out on the farm. Her parents Ella and Tony Brizzlara sold the farm in the early 1920’s and bought a bar in Hoboken, New Jersey on 2nd Street and Park Ave. Viola worked in the bar where she met and fell in love with Simon Villa. They married and Simon came to work in the bar. They had 2 children Edith (my Mom) and Simon (my Uncle). What happened next would be relayed in a hushed whisper: Nana would lean into me and whisper “in was the Drink what killed my first husband”. Eventually, I figured it out.
Nana lost the bar but managed to raise 2 healthy well adjusted kids through the depression and World War 2. She married Steve Fontaine in the late 1940’s. I called him Pa but he died in a boating accident in the late 50’s. Nana lived in a 5th flood walk-up apartment in Union City. She worked at a Sweater Manufacturer walking distance away and was paid piece-rate to fold sweaters all day 5 days a week. After she retired, she moved into the same apartment complex as her sister – my Aunt Edda. They had the same apartment but on different floors. They were cute together.
Nana had a unique way of pronouncing certain words. If you left food out it might spurl she’d say. To make pasta, you first must burl water. A person who couldn’t hear is deef, and of course the always funny earl for oil. She also had this strange offer she made EVERY time I picked her up for the drive to my parent’s house for a Holiday dinner. She was so consistent, I sat with confidence the first time I picked her up with my then girl-friend J in the front seat. Nana is in the back seat. I start driving. Wait for it. Wait for it. Suddenly from the back seat we hear a high-pitched voice: “Kevin, can I blow you for gas?” Life’s funny moments don’t get much better than that.
Nana, to little Kevin was always old. I would say to her, “Nana, you were born old.” She would smile and agree. I cannot remember a time when Nana complained about anything. When I was cleaning my parents’ house to sell it, I found a picture of Nana’s first marriage. She was beautiful. A tiny pixie of a girl with her whole life ahead of her. Nana could have said: “hey, buddy, I was a looker in my day.” But she didn’t.
To be continued……
kongoboken 