Hi, Ava. I'm your grandmother, but you call me Nonna. Nonna is an affectionate term for grandmother in Italian. Someday I'll tell you the story of the incredible woman whose name I borrowed so that I could hear someone special call me by it, and that someone would be you.
Your mother gave this book to me over a year ago. She asked me to write in it for you. Even though I enjoy writing, I found this simple request rather daunting. To write words that you will one day read intimidates me. I wonder if you're smiling at my foolishness right now, frowning, or if you're puzzled. Still, I value your present and future opinion, so I took pause before beginning.
Grandpa and I are now living with my father, your great grandfather, ___ ___ ___, _. He will be 91 on August 2, the same day you're Papa and Mama were married. He can no longer take care of himself so we help him. We live in _ _, __. This is where I was born and grew up during the 1950s. Grandpa grew up a few miles away in ___, _. That's in __ __ __.
A lady stayed with my dad so that we could visit you and Shay and your Mama and Papa on the fourth of July. We arrived on the fourth with bags of toys and patriotic tee shirts for you and Shay. It was the best Independence Day I ever experienced because Grandpa and I were able to spend it with you and Shay. You were very kind and sweet to me, but you positively adored your Grandpa the entire weekend. Even when you said his name, it was filled with adoration. You could not leave his side, and when he walked to another room, you followed him. He was in heaven. I forgive you because I feel the same way about him.
Not long after we arrived, your mother was holding Shay, and you approached them. You gently stroked your brother and very lovingly kissed him. I thought how sweet you were and how well you had adjusted to your new brother after being the only child for over a year and a half when he arrived on scene. I was filled with grandmotherly pride as I watched this tender scene. Then, to my surprise, you quietly took his pudgy, little finger into your mouth, and, without warning, you chomped down on it.
Your mother didn't realize what had happened at first, but it quickly dawned on her when Shay began to scream and cry. While trying to calm Shay, she took you aside and had a quiet but serious conversation with you. I want you to know right now that I was completely sympathetic to your plight. It's obvious that you love your little brother very much, but occasionally you have this overwhelming urge to take a bite out of him, and you just can't stop yourself. After all, you're only two. I'm fifty-eight years old, and I still feel exactly the same way about my brother.
With Manhattan as the backdrop, we watched from the balcony of your brand new condo as the fireworks illuminated the Hudson Bay. I've never seen a more beautiful, or more American fireworks display. You were afraid of the big booming noise caused by the fireworks. You're Papa held you in his arms, but still you were afraid. He took you inside, and you watched the fireworks on the television as we were watching the same thing outside. After awhile, I think you decided that perhaps you did want to see what was going on outside your door.
Your Mama brought you out, holding you securely in her arms. With each boom she would cheer, "Yea, America, America!" Before long you were cheering too. It would later occur to me that, while all of us oohed and aahed over the fireworks, your mother, the only one among us who was not born in this country, was the only one who actually cheered, America!
You will probably give your Papa and Mama some sleepless nights in the future. All parents worry about their children, and all children have to explore the world on their own terms eventually. I hope you'll take it easy on them when you reach your personal Independence Day. Try to remember when the security of their embrace made you feel safer, braver - not confined. Try to remember how they held you in their arms when big and scary things went boom in the night.
