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Daily News Tribune, MA
MetroWest Daily News, MA
Milford Daily News, USA
May 6 2008
Marotta: To newlyweds and dead young men
By Terry Marotta/Gatehouse News Service
GateHouse News Service
Posted May 06, 2008 @ 12:15 AM
I had business in my hometown of Lowell, and so invited my 87-year-old
Uncle Ed along on the drive.
"Will you show me that big church where you were married?" he asked,
and I guess that's all I needed to hear, because once we got there, I
couldn't stop pointing things out to him.
"Here's where I waited for the school bus," I said, and later, "Here
is my junior high," and, "These are the woods behind the park we hung
around at," I said, but did not add that I had kissed a boy there once
just to see what it felt like to break another boy's heart.
Then, "There, Ed! There's the church where David and I were
married. Remember it?"
"Cheese and crackers, I do!" he exclaimed, because he had been present
on that long-ago morning when my hair was black and tumbled in waves
past my shoulders. I remember I spilled a Sloe Gin Fizz on my gown two
seconds after we got to the reception; I didn't even know what a Sloe
Gin Fizz WAS until somebody handed me one, yet there is its faint
stain like raspberry sherbet in all the photos.
"Toby gave the toast in Latin," I added, Toby being big brother to my
young groom. " 'Ad Nuptos!' he said, raising his glass."
"To the newlyweds!" Uncle Ed smiled, remembering.
Uncle Ed is the Marotta brothers' uncle, really, so he and I were
almost strangers to each other then.
We are not strangers now. Every couple of days, I go get him and take
him places. We're planning a train trip to New Haven and back for no
reason except to see Yale by cab and to ride the rails. He hasn't been
on a passenger train since 1930 when he was sent to a ``charity
camp.'' His Armenian parents had come here in 1915. His dad's dad was
a Congregational minister in the old country, and his dad a graduate
of the University of Tarsus, yet the best job he could get here was in
a factory.
Anyway, I love our trips because when we make them, the past seems to
arise before us, whole again and living.
"Here's the mighty Merrimack where it meets the Concord River," I said
as we crossed a bridge over a torrent of waters.
"A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers" Uncle Ed said of
Thoreau's book about his camping trip with brother John, shortly
before John's sudden death.
"I don't think he ever got over that loss!" I said emotionally, just
as if I'd sat in the same little schoolhouse with old Henry David in
the 1820s. Then, regaining my composure a little, I added, "It's a
vale of tears sometimes though, isn't it?''
"Indeed it is," Ed agreed.
"Oh! And here's where they held my high school prom! The boy who took
me died in a plane crash just three years later."
We rode silently awhile - until, turning onto the highway that would
lead us homeward, I sighed and said, ``To the newlyweds and the dead
young men!''
"May they rest in peace," answered Uncle Ed, only he answered in
Latin.
"Forever and ever," I said back, only I said that in Latin, too.
Generally "Forever and ever" comes with an "Amen" to signify an
ending, but I couldn't say the amen this time. I don't think either
one of us is ready for the end yet.
http://www.dailynewstribune.com/archive/x203 2091065/Marotta-To-newlyweds-and-dead-young-men
MetroWest Daily News, MA
Milford Daily News, USA
May 6 2008
Marotta: To newlyweds and dead young men
By Terry Marotta/Gatehouse News Service
GateHouse News Service
Posted May 06, 2008 @ 12:15 AM
I had business in my hometown of Lowell, and so invited my 87-year-old
Uncle Ed along on the drive.
"Will you show me that big church where you were married?" he asked,
and I guess that's all I needed to hear, because once we got there, I
couldn't stop pointing things out to him.
"Here's where I waited for the school bus," I said, and later, "Here
is my junior high," and, "These are the woods behind the park we hung
around at," I said, but did not add that I had kissed a boy there once
just to see what it felt like to break another boy's heart.
Then, "There, Ed! There's the church where David and I were
married. Remember it?"
"Cheese and crackers, I do!" he exclaimed, because he had been present
on that long-ago morning when my hair was black and tumbled in waves
past my shoulders. I remember I spilled a Sloe Gin Fizz on my gown two
seconds after we got to the reception; I didn't even know what a Sloe
Gin Fizz WAS until somebody handed me one, yet there is its faint
stain like raspberry sherbet in all the photos.
"Toby gave the toast in Latin," I added, Toby being big brother to my
young groom. " 'Ad Nuptos!' he said, raising his glass."
"To the newlyweds!" Uncle Ed smiled, remembering.
Uncle Ed is the Marotta brothers' uncle, really, so he and I were
almost strangers to each other then.
We are not strangers now. Every couple of days, I go get him and take
him places. We're planning a train trip to New Haven and back for no
reason except to see Yale by cab and to ride the rails. He hasn't been
on a passenger train since 1930 when he was sent to a ``charity
camp.'' His Armenian parents had come here in 1915. His dad's dad was
a Congregational minister in the old country, and his dad a graduate
of the University of Tarsus, yet the best job he could get here was in
a factory.
Anyway, I love our trips because when we make them, the past seems to
arise before us, whole again and living.
"Here's the mighty Merrimack where it meets the Concord River," I said
as we crossed a bridge over a torrent of waters.
"A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers" Uncle Ed said of
Thoreau's book about his camping trip with brother John, shortly
before John's sudden death.
"I don't think he ever got over that loss!" I said emotionally, just
as if I'd sat in the same little schoolhouse with old Henry David in
the 1820s. Then, regaining my composure a little, I added, "It's a
vale of tears sometimes though, isn't it?''
"Indeed it is," Ed agreed.
"Oh! And here's where they held my high school prom! The boy who took
me died in a plane crash just three years later."
We rode silently awhile - until, turning onto the highway that would
lead us homeward, I sighed and said, ``To the newlyweds and the dead
young men!''
"May they rest in peace," answered Uncle Ed, only he answered in
Latin.
"Forever and ever," I said back, only I said that in Latin, too.
Generally "Forever and ever" comes with an "Amen" to signify an
ending, but I couldn't say the amen this time. I don't think either
one of us is ready for the end yet.
http://www.dailynewstribune.com/archive/x203 2091065/Marotta-To-newlyweds-and-dead-young-men