Walking With Pa

I was six years old, and I remember it as if it were yesterday. My mom said, Pa needs your hug.

He sat quietly in his favorite chair by the large porcelain kitchen table near the window, gazing down at his strong, calloused hands as I entered. Without speaking, he lifted me onto his lap. His embrace was gentle, comforting, and warm, as always.

Somehow I felt his sadness. His only remaining family member in Sicily, his younger sister Rosa, had passed away.

He was Pa to everyone in my big Sicili...