On The Silly Side by Jimmy Del Ponte

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My dad considered being a dad the most important thing in the world. One of his favorite sayings was “You just tell them your daddy said so.” And I did. I had a guitar on layaway at a sleazy music store formerly in Medford and it was all paid up. The owner kept saying it was coming in, it was coming in. Finally I brought my dad down there. Dad says firmly, “Do you have this kid’s guitar?” The crumb said “No.” So dad says,”Give him his money!” And he did. That was dad.

If you still have your father here on this earth you are a lucky person. I would give anything to have my dad back. Today I can just be grateful to dad for all he gave me. After all, he gave me life (along with my mom) and that is a pretty big gift. And I in turn passed that life onto a new crop of Del Pontes. Hopefully they will do the same someday.

I can still see him sitting in the old Supreme Deli in Davis Square holding court with his friends. The deli was where he could eat all the bad stuff he wasn’t supposed to eat and no one would be harping on him. He was told by his doctors to lay off the salt. We bought salt-free Saltines for the house and what did dad do? He licked them and shook salt on. But at the deli he was free to eat all the crap he wanted. Mom used to get on his case because he would put salt on his food before even tasting it. That drove her nuts. Dad did what he wanted, when he wanted. He was a true dyed in the wool Somerville kid who was actually born inside the family home on Elmwood St. There is a plaque in front of the house designating the area as Del Ponte Square. My Grandpa fought in World War I, dad fought in World II, and my uncle Joe served in Korea.

Fred Del Ponte (Ferdinando) was born on Elmwood St. in 1920, and had to walk all the way to the top of the street to attend Western Junior High School, just as I did over 40 years later. In my living room we still have a small table that dad made in a Western Junior High School woodworking class. We still have the dictionary that dad used at Somerville High, his 1938 SHS yearbook, and the desk he did his homework at. We have lots of stuff that used to be dads. Hell, I am living in the house he and mom bought in 1961. When he died he left everything all paid up, owing no one a dime. Boy, are we different in that aspect! I certainly did not inherit his financial savvy.

I loved hearing the stories of when he was a kid growing up in Somerville. The movies for a nickel, the candy bars that were so big they would give you a hernia lifting them, and the fact that they had no TV, just radios. He loved sitting in front of the radio listening to The Lone Ranger and The Shadow. I can see him hopping on and off the trolley without paying, and working with his father who was a school custodian. My Grandpa (his dad) was also a cowboy in South America, and a brave soldier who lost a lung to poison gas in World War I.

I can hear dad begging his car to start on a cold day. All his cars were named Esmerelda. He would say, “Come on Essie, come on girl, come on let’s go” as the starter would go … ZIZZ … ZIZZ … ZIZZ … over and over. “Come on Essie” would sometimes turn into “*# !! *# Essie!” Dad’s cars were more like tanks. They were big, and clunky, with plush comfy seats. How the three of us kids survived standing up on the back seat while dad tooled around the city I’ll never know. I remember dad’s long arm swing over to try to protect us if he had to stop short.

Dad joined the Boy Scouts as a leader, and he also bought a guitar and took lessons with me for a while. I remember the summer that dad, myself, and my brother Joe all got wiffles at Lionel’s Barber Shop in Ball Square. When the nuns at St. Clement’s were getting a new piano, they offered it to any student’s family who could move it. Dad took it and started a tradition of Del Ponte piano players that included me and my brother, and both my sons. We replaced the nun piano around 10 years ago. Dad did it all. He was even an usher, collecting money during mass at St. Clements’s for years. He said he did it only for the free breakfast at the Rectory. He used to bump my head with the basket for a joke! He stopped when he decided to join the Masons.

If I had to sit down and write some of my father’s famous phrases it would be difficult. Most of the time “Dadisms” just pop out on their own. I am always amazed when they do because not only do they come from some hidden emotional reservoir, it comes out even sounding like his voice. I say. “Wow, I haven’t heard that term in years!” It happens all the time and it helps to keep his memory alive.

My brother was named Joe, and I, of course, am Jimmy. But to dad, I was “Joe…eh…Jim” and my brother was “Jim…eh…Joe.” Today it is déjà vu. I also have a Joe and a Jim and I do the same thing with their names.

My sons missed out on meeting their grandfather but they hear about him all the time. Everything I have I owe to my dad. He was a generous, funny and nurturing guy who loved us fiercely. He wasn’t afraid to speak his mind and he backed down to no one, especially when it came to his family. He called me his right hand man when mom was sick and I moved back to help. If I was his right hand man, he was my hero, my protector, and my biggest fan.

There is no manual that comes with being a dad. I have always gone by what was in my heart. What is right and what is wrong? What would my father do? I know my dad is looking down whenever I have to make a decision so I run it by him. I think he would approve of the way I am carrying on in his footsteps. I had the best teacher in the world. I always said that if my kids end up loving me half as much as I love my dad, I will have done my job. I want to set an example for them, on what being a good dad involves.

So dad, Happy Father’s Day, and as always, I will be thinking of you and continuing to tell your grandkids all about you.

Happy Father’s Day to all the Somerville dads, past and present.