âalohaâ is to Hawaiian people.
School started in late August in Boyer, so on a cool summerâs eve, with big sheets of rain pouring down, Big Vinnie DelGratto packed his wife, two kids, and little bastard into his â65 Cadillac and drove to the five-and-dime for a yearâs worth of school supplies. I donât think Big Vinnie gave a damn about his kidsâ education, and I knew he couldnât care less about mine, but he wasnât about to let his wife drive his puke green pride and joy. Not out of any concern for her safety, but instead out of a firm belief that a womanâs place was not behind the wheel. He even drove her to the grocery store every Wednesday, where he passed the time with the newspaperâs sports section and a six-pack of Bud.
âWeâll be right back,â said Maria in a cheerful tone that was met with a Big Vinnie grumble, a newspaper rustle, and a cracking of that first Bud. If a grocery trip meant a six-pack, then I guessed that Vinnie was probably good for three by the time we collected our black marble composition pads and number two pencils.
I was wrong. For on our return, Vinnie DelGratto was already soaking his liver in Bud number five and cursing out loud at the fate of his beloved Atlanta Braves. âGoddamn, Aaron,â he yelled, âhome-run king my guinea ass. Strikeout king is more like it.â When Auntie M finished squeezing her sizable frame into the Caddy, Big Vinnie took off, ran a red light at the edge of the parking lot, made a sharp left at the next stop sign, and passed by row after row of neat little 1930s-era houses en route to our eleven-hundred-square-foot home on the far end of town. The trip averaged about ten minutes, but even with the rain pouring down and visibility damn near nil, Big Vinnie seemed intent on making it in five.
I looked at Johnny to the immediate right of me in the Caddyâs backseat, fumbling with the bags, a frown on his face. Little Rachel peered in from the far right as if not to be shut out of some big secret, and said, âWhatcha looking for, Johnny?â in her cute, four-year-old way.
âGet away, Rachel,â said Johnny, who turned his back to his sister and continued his search. âMom, I canât find my protractor.â
I heard Vinnie grunt as he turned up the radio, which was broadcasting the tail end of an embarrassing Braves loss.
Rachel persisted. âWhatcha looking for, Johnny?â she repeated, and attempted to reach into the bag.
âStop it, Rachel,â Johnny yelled, and called for his mom to get Rachel to end her reaching ways.
Auntie M, as usual, was the voice of reason and attempted to stop their sibling quarrel. âCome on now, Johnny,â she said, âdonât talk to your sister like that.â
âBut Mom, I canât find my protractor.â
This time Big Vinnie spoke up as he gunned the carâs motor and made his voice rise above the rain, and the radio. âGoddammit,â he yelled, âIâm trying to listen to a ball game.â
âBut Dad, I donât have my protractor.â
âShut up.â
âI need one for school.â
âShut up.â
If there ever was a time not to speak, it was then, for Big Vinnie was in full scumbag mode, and even though I was seated behind him and could not see his face, I could see the fat on the back of his neck twitching, a sure sign that he was about to prove his manhood by smacking a small child.
Johnny leaned forward to plead his case, but before the one syllable of âDadâ was even finished, his father caught him in the face with a stiff backhand swat. For the first time since Iâd known her, Maria DelGratto got mad. âHow dare you?â she yelled, which caught Big Vinnie off guard, but before another word could be heard, Vinnie DelGratto, her husband, filled the air of the Caddy with the loud cracking sound of fist meeting nose. I saw