Anthony "Chub" Cappelletti

I don't have a proper term to define the family relation type for my friend Chubbo. We shared no blood link whatsoever, but he lived next to my mom's family when she was growing up in Crockett, and had always been a very good friend to my family. All the way back from childhood I have more memories of him than I do of my own grandparents, and as far as I am concerned he was a grandparent to me. Chubbo passed away this last Sunday morning.

My mother's parents split way before I ever existed, and I never knew her father. There are photos of me with my mom's mother, but she died of lung cancer when I was about 4, so I have no real memories of my own. (Side note ... DON'T FUCKING SMOKE! But I'm not bitter). My father's parents also divorced before I was born (on his wedding day, no less ... very classy), but both of them were actually a part of my life to some extent.

My dad's dad was mostly absent for years until his second wife passed away, at which point he realized he actually had kids and grandkids of his own, and he did his best to make up for having been absent. He was always a good guy, but I almost always felt awkward around him. I think my dad felt the same way about him, but we made it all work when we'd meet for dinners or holidays. He passed away very suddenly a couple of years ago, and I found myself wishing I had tried harder to get to know him, even blaming myself a little bit for not having been the bigger man and just make the time to go see him more often, regardless of how awkward it might have been, or how many times I'd already heard his war stories.

My dad's mom is still around, and I occasionally call or write her. That's a very awkward relationship if ever there was one. She is very ... well, particular in how she sends her love. It's not bad, it just rubs me the wrong way sometimes, but I'm doing what I can to accept the fact that she means well. And I should learn from my own lesson and be a good grandson while I still actually have a grandparent.

Which brings me back to Chub. His real name was Anthony, but apparently as a child he was pudgy, and somehow let the name "Chubbo" stick, so I always knew him as Chub. I call him a grandparent because although we didn't spend hoards of time with him, he was just always so friendly and fun and interesting. He would play with me and show me his drafting table and his wood working tools, and let me explore his house and back yard. He wanted me to learn and explore and have fun. As much as I love my blood grandparents, they always loved be back at a distance; I have zero memories of them playing anything with me, or getting down on the floor to wrestle or be even a little goofy, which is perhaps why I now treat my grandmother with love at a distance.

So it's not like Chub was in my life every day, but the man genuinely gave a shit about me and was always asking my mom how I was doing, where I was working, what I was working on, every single time she would see him. Even to the extent that sometime he would forget to ask how my mom was doing. So it should come as no surprise that I now find myself wishing I had made the time to visit him more often. Not because there was anything I felt I needed to say, but just to hang out.

Damn life and the things that "keep us busy" when there's so much else we really want to be doing. I've been "so busy" with work these past months, that even now when I know I'm sad at his passing, I can't muster the sadness to grieve because I know I've got another 12 hour work day coming up tomorrow. That's a whole different blog posting that I hope to get to some time soon.

I can't say for certain whether my interest in how things work, and my subsequent pursuit of a career in engineering are because of his mechanical inclinations, but it would not surprise me in the least to find out that was the case. Anyway, the guy was a very positive influence in my life, and I will certainly miss him. Rest in peace my friend.