By Rosanne Pagano
“Tell the one about Uncle Benny’s toe!”
“Or the time he shot BB’s through the bathroom ceiling. Tell that!”
“The chicken and Uncle Benny’s cigarette is funnier. Let’s hear it again.”
Benny is my long-deceased father, endurer of these and other minor scrapes in a brief but mirthful life.
Told and re-told by cousins who may or may not have borne witness, my dear father’s life has become lore, venerated by laughter in kitchens every Saturday night.
Look at us, this next generation of jesters, sipping our espresso with Sambuca, raising china plates for another slice of cake.