Mauro DePasquale

Growing Pains cover
When I was a kid, there wasn’t much I enjoyed more than getting out and walking with my Pops. He showed me so much of the world beyond the yard. So much that could never be experienced by car rides or television.
He took me through the woods near Green Hill Park where he grew up and showed me all types of wondrous things, like a castle where Dracula lived.
Illustration of castle and giant tunnel
He showed me Eagle’s Eye-a giant crater, hundreds of yards wide and at least fifty feet deep. He said when he was a kid, he had a dream that he was at Eagle’s Eye and he met Jesus and learned all about his future wife and kids.
Illustration of boy in bead, dreaming.
Illustration of fort being attacked.
He showed me where he built his fort when he was a kid, explaining to me that being high above was a vantage point to enemies coming to attack from the foot of the hill. I used to imagine him as a hero amongst his friends, defending the fort from Indians.
He took me to a place where he used to chuck bottles and then he showed me the scar by his lip.
He spoke of elaborate hide-and-seek games he and his friends played around the entire neighborhood, and showed me how to use a walking stick-all within the same breath.
We walked downtown and he showed me the Old Boy’s Club. The giant arc in front had the most amazing acoustics. He showed me how you could whisper into one corner, and the sound would carry all the way to the other. Then we sat thirty feet apart from each other talking through the wall-carried sound waves.
We climbed up atop Bancroft Tower, which seemed to be the highest point on Earth at that time.
He explained how being that high up, one could see another man’s future. “See the red car on the road down there?” he pointed down the highway. “In a few minutes he will go around that bend to that construction detour and be redirected. The driver in that car doesn’t know this yet but we do,” he said with a grin. “Maybe this is how God sees us?”
Illustration of view from the tower.
Sometimes we walked down to Lake Park just to hike the trail. He told me the entire track was one mile long. I used to think that was such a huge distance.
We would climb down the steep hill in the woods using the uprooted branches as ladders and sit by the water watching the boats pass by. He showed me how to skim rocks and told me his dream to sail a boat someday.
Occasionally, we would walk down to the church. I remember it was one of his favorite places to go during the day.
Illustration standing outside of church.
At times it was completely empty. I could tell he enjoyed those times best.
Illustration of church alter and pews
We would genuflect and kneel in front of the tabernacle. He explained how it contained the body and blood of Christ.
He told me that when the church was empty, it was the best opportunity to hear God’s choir of angels singing. He would tell me to close my eyes and listen. I would get impatient and tell him I couldn’t hear anything.
“Listen with your heart, not with your ears,” he’d say. I closed my eyes in amazement and focused... At first I could only hear the trucks whizzing by on the highway that ran passed the church. Then I felt a tingle and imagined the organ playing and felt the choir crescendo in my soul.
Illustration of boy imagining choir and organ.
Illustration of mother soothing child's legs.
Papa always walked so fast back then that it was difficult to keep up. Sometimes, at night my legs would hurt so bad that I would lay awake in bed and cry. That’s when my mother would come and rub my legs until I was soothed.
“These are growing pains,” she would tell me. I could hear Papa hammering Bach on his piano in the living room, pianoforte.
Illustration of father playing piano.
Illustration of father walking out of the house.
Perhaps she was right. But I felt the pain in growth come years later, when Papa walked out of the house alone.
Sleep without the comforting sound of the piano was difficult at first, and Mummy’s soothing hands were busy wiping tears and filling notebooks and notebooks full of pain.
Illustration of mother writing in a notebook.
Illustration of father and son embracing.
Over time though, my legs did become a lot stronger and I was able to do my part in helping the family stand under the heavy elements that encompassed us. There were years of sullen distance but growth persisted. Eventually, I became strong enough for the longest journey I had to face at that point in my life—meeting my Pops half-way.
This meant seeing him in a different light—as a human being with faults, sins, anxieties, guilt and all the other shortcomings of mortal men. At the end of that journey there were no tall tales, glorified structures or exaggerated realities. All that remained was truth and stone cold truth alone.
Illustration of father and son having dinner together.
Illustration of father and son imagining choir.
But to this day, whenever I look into my father’s eyes, I still hear that choir of Angels singing in my soul, and I still see an important part of my future—through the gifts he gave me as a boy. Thank you Papa, for making my legs strong and for teaching me that love really can conquer all.
© Mauro DePasquale 2015. All rights reserved.