Summary: Angela is deeply moved by the depth of Tony's remorse when he recalls ruining his grandfather's dream to become an American citizen.
Today was probably one of the most emotional days of my life. Ever since Tony told me the story of his grandfather's dream to become an American, I was determined to find a way to ease his guilt of being the reason his grandfather missed his swearing in ceremony. Peeking out from the eyes of a grown man who harbored more than two decades of regret, I saw a hurt thirteen-year-old boy still mourning the loss of his grandfather. And my heart broke just listening to the sadness and regret in his voice.
The whole story was a sad but coveted look into Tony's past. Having lost my father at fourteen, I know the pain he must have felt at the tender age of seven when he was told his mother would not be coming home. And then to have a strange grandfather from a foreign country move in must have required more adjusting than he was capable of. And I can too easily imagine the defiant little boy who was also respectful of his elders, the rebellious teen-ager who was also an altar boy at his church. Like he is today, the young Tony Micelli was doubtless a constant contradiction.
While far from withdrawn about his youth, so much of his reminiscing centers on revelry with friends, and dating what seemed to be the entire female population of Pitken High. His macho, male bravado always seems to take control of his memory, and it's rare that I get a glimpse of the impressionable, vulnerable young man who came to adore his grandfather and lost him too soon. Amazing what significance otherwise meaningless bottle caps can have. They were the foundation of a lifelong talent as well as a bond with his grandfather to which Tony still holds fast. They were also the catalyst for a heart-wrenching afternoon that only today was granted closure. We sat in that attic for hours as memories Tony had forgotten he had came flooding back. Once he started talking, it was like the floodgates opened, and thoughts and feelings about his childhood that he hadn't expressed or even thought about in years began to pour out. And all I could do was just sit there and listen, offering what small solace I could with a comforting touch that I hoped could somehow convey the constancy of my presence. I wanted him to know that I was there for him, as a listener, as a friend.
But after the sky outside turned dark, casting us in the amber glow of one small light bulb, I knew there had to be something more that could be done. When I told him about the idea Mother came up with, he was skeptical – at best. He protested and argued, convinced it was a lost cause and unwilling to make himself vulnerable on the issue a second time. "What if I fail him again, Angela?" he said. "I don't think I could live with that."
But I asked him if he would feel worse having tried and failed or not having tried at all. Which one was the greater failure? And so he agreed to see the judge, who was actually more easily convinced than Tony. Whether posthumous naturalization becomes a common practice is doubtful, but if it does, I can't think of a better inaugural candidate than Matteo Micelli. He must have been a remarkable man, if the character of his grandson is any indication.