Fridays with Frank, Sundays with Sinatra. South Philly circa 1992 on Franklin St. At the time, I’d complain and ask why everyday was associated with Ol’ Blue Eyes on the obscure radio station which featured the seemingly obsessed Sid Mark. He’d tell Frank how much he loved him, to which Frank would reply “I love you too, Sidney” in that coarse North Jersey accent. But despite the complaints, I started associating this radio station, and Frank Sinatra in general, with Tessie…the originator of my affectionate (and deserved) nickname “Little Tessie.” She would turn the station on and hum Frank’s tunes while kicking my ass in 500 Rummy. When my mom felt I was old enough to start walking myself the 2 blocks home from school to Tessie’s, I could never walk fast enough. The second I opened the door, I knew I had books waiting for me in the porch, something cooking in the kitchen, fresh grapes and popsicles in the fridge and freezer, and game shows on TV. I couldn’t think of one person more interested in her family than Tessie. The light in her face that would emanate whenever we’d walk in that door made you feel like nothing could possibly be wrong all over the globe. When I tell you my grandmother could solve the climate crisis, settle jihads, and rid this country of the shithole it’s in, I say it with the utmost confidence. Unconditional is probably the best word to describe that woman when it came to her family. I’m not naïve enough to equate her with deities; my grandmother had her flaws. But even her flaws made her endearing. She couldn’t care less what the hell you, your mother, or anyone else thought of her. She was big, beautiful, and while not being perfect, she was “the closest thing to it.” When you fucked up and felt awful about yourself, she’d take you on her lap and rock back and forth until you couldn’t even remember what the hell you were upset about in the first place. Nothing really mattered when you were in her company, except what time Supermarket Sweep came on. She was passionate, kind-hearted, and generous. Affectionate, funny, and strong-minded. Even when she was days away from passing, losing her hair from chemo, in and out of morphine-induced states, she kept her humor asking for ice and immediately jumping into song with “Ice, Ice babaaay!” I watched my grandmother’s body give up after months of treatment, exhaustion, and excruciating pain. I thanked her for not being as stubborn as I thought she’d be by letting go to alleviate the constant pain. Every so often I’ll grow resentful and angry, especially now that I’m having a child of my own, a child I know she would’ve worshipped and adored. A child who’s deserving of knowing what that woman was like. But most of the time whenever I think of her, whenever I listen to “I Have Dreamed” by Ol’ Blue Eyes, whenever I let out an opinion I know she would have had herself, I smile and think of the 12 years I had experiencing that woman’s unconditional love, and how grateful I am to have known her, to have been raised by her, to have been loved by her. Besides my mother, she is the only other woman I aspire to be more like every day. And although I’ve never stopped missing her and wondering what she would say now that I’m on my way to having my own family and starting my own life, I still manage to smile anytime it’s Friday with Frank, or Sunday with Sinatra.
