writingwomyn november collab

Dear William,

I am writing, because I cannot tell you in person, to share with you the effects our short relationship had on my life.
Most of what I know about you is from stories that people tell me. Not only people in our family but others who knew you, have made it a point over the years to let me know that you were a great man. Highly intelligent, clever and warm. A kind man. A man with an amazing sense of humor, and an ease about you that made people instantly comfortable, instantly friends.

We knew each other for such a short time, and I was so young that my memories of you are hazy at best. The memories have always come to me like old black and white movies, snippets really, short bursts of time. But even now, as the memories fade despite my efforts to try to keep them, I think of you often.
Mom is always saying I have your sense of humor and she tears up when she tells me how fun it would have been for you to know me now, as an adult. How we may banter with our wit. You were witty she tells me. I know I am.

Grandma told me how you changed the spelling of your last name, to get work. Italians were not highly regarded professors at the time, but a simple change of and ‘i’ to an ‘e’ made the difference. It got you in the door for the interview. You taught me to be resourceful.

I remember in 7th grade history… a class I had no interest in…and even less interest in my teacher – until he said-- out of the blue one day in front of the class, that you were his professor in college, and that he learned more from you than any teacher before.
You taught me to earn respect by being the best at whatever I chose to do.

Uncle Nick told me you turned down a seat on the bench, so you could continue to teach. Even tho you were already struggling on that meager teachers salarly. Because that was your gift, your love. You taught me to do what I love.

Mom says you used to laugh when she would worry about the bills and debt and all the things you needed with small children -- you laughed because you knew it was only money, and that it would all work out. You taught me that love and family are truly more important than income.

At the university, where you taught and where I earned my degree – I visited the room in the alumni hall dedicated to you, with your name on the door, and that painting of you hanging on the wall. You taught me to be proud, you taught me to work hard.

Thanks Dad.
William Biaggio DiSiero
1918 - 1965