When the Moon Hits Your Eye Like a Big Pizza Pie

Although I don't have a drop of Italian blood in my veins, I have a really wonderful Italian Uncle, by the name of Nick. On Saturday we went to the Miller Ridge Inn in Jericho for a luncheon to celebrate Uncle Nick's 95th birthday. I have known Uncle Nick my entire life. He is the oldest one of the Three Musketeers. My father met Nick at Brooklyn College when Nick and Joe were in an Italian class together and Joe introduced my Dad to Nick. Joe, by the way, is my other Italian Uncle, a guy my father met in his Junior year at Bushwich High School in Brooklyn. Uncle Joe is the youngest of the Three Musketeers and my Dad is sandwiched in the middle. The three of them have remained steadfast friends for all these years. As far as I'm concerned they have a rather amazing friendship. Can you believe they still talk to each other on an almost daily basis?
In the 1930's Nick lived on Staten Island and commuted by bus, ferry and rail in order to attend Brooklyn College. Later on, Nick asked my father to be the best man at his wedding. My father traveled by public transportation to New Dorp on Staten Island for the wedding (this was a rather long journey from East New York, Brooklyn back in 1941). When the bus seemed to stop at every single corner and my father realized he was in danger of missing the entire ceremony, he jumped off the next stop and vaulted over backyard fences to get to Nick and Dots' wedding on time. He arrived at the church as they were pinning up my Dad's tuxedo on Nick's 16 year old nephew.
Throughout my childhood we would get together with Nick's family almost every Saturday night. It was always great fun. The adults would play cards and drink red wine mixed in cream soda (I hear this is called an Italian highball or something like that). In 1950 Nick bought a brand new cape cod- style home and moved his family from his first apartment in Brooklyn out to the wide open spaces of Floral Park. Initially there weren't even sidewalks this far away from the city. When you visit Floral Park today, it's hard to believe that at one time it was the far extension of civilization. Us kids- Nick had three and Charlie had four -were pretty much left to our own devices, which was fine with us. We had great fun having wild Spauldine ball fights down in the basement (boys against the girls) and would find plenty of other creative ways to occupy ourselves while the adults played cards. Sometimes we would watch a TV show called the Hit Parade where the stars of the show would sing the top 10 songs of the week. I remember singing along to songs such as How much is that Doggy in the Window, Mr. Sandman Send Me a Dream, and When The Moon Hits Your Eye Like A Big Pizza Pie, That's Amore. It certainly was a different time; I guess it was, in many ways, a time of innocence.
Later in the evening, Nick and Charlie would go pick up a pizza. The pizzas were really authentic and well-made but these were my first experiences with pizza pie and I it took me awhile to acquire the taste. We would have to make sure that we finished eating before midnight so we could receive Communion the next morning. These evenings flew by and soon it would be time to get into our pajamas, and pile into the back seat of the car for the ride home. I remember how cold it felt going from the warm and cozy house out into the midnight, winter weather. But as I sat shivering in the backseat I'd be comforted by the thought that next Saturday, we would be doing it all again.
Happy Birthday, Uncle Nick. And by the way did I ever tell you I love you.
Mary Beth