Angelo, Watch Out for the Dog Poop!

Angelo D'Elia/ 04-19-07

My dad was a gushing fountain when it came to advice. For example, he always told me to face big jobs by focusing on two things. Get a little done everyday, don't agonize over the bigness of the enterprise, and eventually you will get it done. I have applied his advice to my academic work such as the completion of a master's degree at Occidental, and to other endeavors such as additions to my homes and landscaping. At times though, and with no wish to be disrespectful, his suggestions were extremely mundane, if not downright primitive.

I recall that he had an obsession with stepping on dog feces and then tracking it all over the house. As a kid, I can't come close to enumerating how many times he said, "Angelo, stat'attento alle merde di cano".(Angelo, watch out for the dog poop.) After the one hundredth time, it eventually just went in one ear and out the other. The advice I mean.

One day, I picked Mom and Dad up and drove them to the Catalina house for dinner with Sonia and me. It was in late 1987, or the early part of 1988. Dad was using a cane, but happy to be out and about. I parked the car on the Wyoming side of the house. After turning it off, I walked over to the parkway to let them both out. It was already dark. Sonia came out from the kitchen to help me escort them both in.

Sonia walked arm in arm with Mom across the grass, through the back gate, up the two back-porch steps and into the house. Once in the laundry room, the two took a few steps and were in the kitchen. Meanwhile, Dad and I followed and within minutes we were all together. Dad looked around. I think it was the first time he had seen my new house. Mom and Dad sat down at the picnic-style dinner table that had two benches. We started to talk with one another, eager to get acquainted, but it didn't take long for everyone to start noticing.

Dad was the first to speak. "Per la miseria, uno di voi avete sporchati le scarpe con merda di cane." (For the love of Mike. One of you have stepped on dog poop.) Of all things to happen on the day my parents were to be our dinner guests. I am not exaggerating when I say that it was a crisis of no small dimension. As if stunned, we all began checking our shoes as Dad watched, demanding all the while that we be thorough and once the perpetrator is found, he or she should remove said shoes and give them a complete washing, exchange them for another pair and finally clean the kitchen floor and back porch.

Sonia was momentarily paralyzed, but began to check both feet. I remember, she looked at me with a look of relief and innocence. Mom struggled in her seated position, but eventually managed to examine the bottoms of her shoes, and announced with pride that she was clean. I did the same, and when I put my last foot down we all looked at Dad. He stared back at us. He had not yet fully appreciated the poignancy of the moment. After a few minutes of silence, his eyes began to waver and he actually blinked. He looked down toward his shoes, and one at a time he lifted them instructing Mom to check the soles and heels.

First the left shoe. Nothing. He smiled with the assurance of a Calabrese. A little hesitation, and then up with the right foot. There it was for all to see. Dog poop smeared on the entire bottom of his right shoe. He must not only have stepped on it, but literally danced on a pile of dog poop so large that one could have spotted it while driving on Wyoming with one eye closed. Throughout the ordeal Dad had a look of disgust on his face. It was an expression he brought to the fore whenever things were judged to be unclean. If ever that look was appropriate, it was the day Dad stepped on dog poop when he came to our house for dinner.

Things calmed down, and the dinner was not ruined. When he was savoring the broiled chicken that Sonia had carefully prepared. He stopped eating, looked at her and said, "Magnifico Sonia. Cosi se cocina il pollo. Raffaela, perche non mai prepare il pollo cosi?" (Great Sonia. This is how chicken should be cooked. Raffaela, why don't you ever prepare chicken like this?) Mom was in shock, but recovered quickly to state that next time she would, and Sonia smiled with the satisfaction of her future daughter-in-law. I didn't say anything, as Dad had already made my day.