Through my Father’s Eyes
Jeanette Foresta
Water surrounded me. Blue mist washed over me. Sunlight slanted down to illuminate the humps and outcroppings of coral and tumbled lava. Reef fish darted in flashes of color. Wave reflections undulated in a shining web of light. It was a landscape so colorful and strange that it might have been a wonderful place to live if I hadn’t been dreaming. This dream took me back to one clear and sunny day at Bath Beach in Brooklyn in 1924. It was a crowded day at the beach that day. I was 10 years old, and my threebrothers and two sisters came along with mom and dad. My father’s last name was Montaperto,- “monta” meaning mountain, and “perto” meaning open. He was born on the volcanic island of Stromboli in 1884, an island in the Mediterranean about two hundred miles west of Italy. Stromboli is solid rock with a few olive trees, goats, and dogs. My Grandfather Jack used to take his fishing boat to Italy for food, and notions for the population of 80 people living on the volcano.Jack would leave for his daily run, and my father Joe, and his brother Vincent would dive in the ocean for fish to sell.
My father Joe and his brothers Vincent, Enrico and Salvatore were great swimmers with muscular builds, and they did most of the dive-fishing in the crisp blue ocean for the people on the island.
As the years went by, my father found his way to Brooklyn, where we would frequently go to the beach. One day we were playing in the sand making castles when all of a sudden we heard a commotion. Looking around we saw that everyone was rushing out of the water shouting something about sharks. “Sharks!” I said. Then without another word my father proceeded to go into the water to everyone’s amazement. He ignored the fierce yelling from the lifeguard to “Stop, Sharks!” But my father never paid him any mind, and dove straight into the chopping waves. I thought, “What is he trying to do - kill himself?”
Every hair follicle on my body was prickling, and there was a knot beginning to grow in the tensed pit of my belly, and I thought, “What if it’s a sea monster or a giant whale?” The people on the crowded beach stood there, eyes wide and mouths open silently waiting, wondering what he was doing. My mother’s eyes scanning over the sea, seemed distant and trance-like. As my father reached the sharks we were shocked to see that he was petting them, then taking rides by holding onto their fins. That’s when I realized, from the stories my father used to tell us about his life on the island, that it wasn’t sharks at all, but porpoises. As my father surfaced from an under water dive, his black hair plastered to his skull giving him a planed-down look. He looked like a warrior in a dark helmet coming home from battle as he emerged to a cheering crowd. Yes, it was a happy day. After a while the porpoises moved out to sea, and were soon forgotten as everyone went back into the water. It wasn’t until much later on that everyone else realized what truly intelligent, and wonderful animals these dolphins are. However, my father already knew.
