If you’re lucky in life, you had an aunt who was like a second mother or an uncle who was like a second father. They guided you from when you were a kid, with words and deeds and understanding, and made you feel special. That was my Uncle George.

My first memories as a kid growing up on the streets in the West End of Boston were about my uncles and aunts…. my Italian family. My Uncle Marco, who taught me how to box. Uncle Frank, “Chi Chi”, Mr Personality, who was great and generous to me his whole life. Uncle Tony, a sweet guy, who gave me my first job. Uncle Joe, who treated me like the son he never had. Uncle John, the distinguished patriarch of the family, who used to give my father a whack on the head every time he swore or said something off color, which was a lot. And my Uncle George, the youngest of the uncles, who played the crazy clown at holidays and weddings, at least until Zia Maria dragged him off the floor to yell at him for making a fool of himself. I remember thinking how these proud strong men, whom I adored and idolized, would be afraid of their wives, my aunts, getting mad at them.

I remember when I was about 6 years old, on the way to Italy for Uncle George’s wedding to my Aunt Maria. My family traveled to Italy on a ship, the Andrea Doria, which actually sank the following year. That ship was doomed for having me as a passenger. I terrorized the ship’s staff and my mother, always running around doing crazy things, like climbing on the railings. When Uncle George heard the stories of my craziness, he just laughed. No matter how fresh I was, Uncle George always got a kick out of me. I knew even at that age that he had a special affection for me. It’s a beautiful thing for a kid to feel special. But even though Uncle George was a good and patient guy, even his love for me was strained at his wedding. When it was time for he and Zia Maria to say goodbye to the guests and leave for their honeymoon, they couldn’t find their car keys. Everyone looked frantically for over an hour, until, of course, they found them in a fresh little boy’s pocket. That story has made my family laugh for decades. Zia Maria, even today, still can’t believe Thomas the lawyer was such a mischievous kid. Unfortunately, as I write this, Uncle George is dying slowly in Florida. Alzheimer’s. Home hospice. I’m waiting for the call. My brother and I will hop on a plane, share a room, and pay our last respects to one of the few great guys you meet in your lifetime. Me and my cousins will recall how we’d play ball from sunrise to sunset. How, on weekends, Uncle George would play with us on the rocky, undeveloped fields behind our house. Uncle George was raised in Italy, so he never played baseball or football in his life. But he made up for not knowing what the hell he was doing with an unreal burst of speed, smarts and fearlessness. I’m talking about diving on the rocks to catch a ball or tag a runner. Bleeding knees. We thought he was nuts until we found out he was a star soccer player in Italy. That explained everything. You see,  every town in Italy, no matter how small, has a soccer team, and a beautiful soccer stadium. Everybody in town, thousands, would come to watch the weekend games. After all, it was their town team. You know, Friday Night Lights. Uncle George was the star, the striker, which is the best goal scorer. Strikers are blazing fast, smart and tough. And fearless. That was Uncle George when we were kids. What a competitor!

As we grew up, we learned how competitive and  astute he was in business. He always, ALWAYS, made the right business decisions. He helped me so much when I first became an attorney. Uncle George was business smart AND street smart. He trusted me with legal matters, and recommended shrewd ways to get business, critical things for a young inexperienced guy just starting out. He wanted to help me because I was his nephew and he was proud of me. And he loved me. And that’s how I felt about him too.
Long after I was established, every once in awhile he’d stop by the office just to say hello. I always loved seeing him, always had time for him, because he still made me feel special. He ALWAYS looked dapper, very stylish, earth colors, even matching belt and shoes. He looked like he just got off a plane from Milan. We’d visit for a few minutes, talking about our favorite subjects, the RED Sox or PATS, Ted Williams, Joe DiMaggio, Tom Brady. But most importantly, we’d talk about our sons, Babe and Tommy, our daughters Baby Nancy and Danielle. He never stopped thanking me for begging him to take a Saturday off from work to see the Babe play high school football. Babe was the star running back, just like Uncle George was the star striker. I’ll never forget how emotional Uncle George was after watching Babe for the first time. He couldn’t believe how good his son was. His eyes filled with tears. You see, he had that incredible deep sense of pride and love a father feels in his heart for the exploits of a son. Uncle George never missed another game in Babe’s high school or college career. He and Zia Maria had a great time following Tufts University play all over New England. In those nostalgic meetings in my office, Uncle George would describe those years as the best years of his life. Those magical days with our kids was our favorite subject. Once in awhile we’d get emotional, crying about them. We’d laugh, then we’d cry. That was okay. Crying’s okay when it comes to your kids. We were unashamed about our deep love for them, both of us aware of how vulnerable we were,  how intertwined our happiness was with their lives.

Uncle George taught me so much by words and deeds. But what I remember most about him was that, unlike most men, he didn’t need or want to hide his love for his kids, his love and respect for Zia Maria, his love for me. He was a wonderful, secure man, as successful and comfortable in business as he was funny when he played the crazy clown at holidays and weddings.

George Colonna was an Italian-American immigrant. He loved Italy. But he always told me America was the greatest country in the world because it gave him and other hard working immigrants the opportunity to work and support their families. Uncle George was not a physically imposing man, but he was a BIG man. And just like so many of our immigrant fathers and mothers, George Colonna was one of the great generation of men and women who came to this country on boats…..with NOTHING. Can you imagine coming to a foreign country with no money, no job, not being able to speak the language? The only things they had were their family, their strong will, and their wits.They were uneducated but highly intelligent, loyal to their families, hard workers. God knows how hard they worked, instilling in their kids that unique immigrant work ethic. Do you remember ANY days that your father or mother wasn’t working? That your mom wasn’t cooking and cleaning. Any days that they stayed home with a work injury or on unemployment? I don’t. They raised their kids, bought and paid for homes, shared warm holidays, showed us family love. THEY GAVE US THE LIVES THAT WE HAVE. They came here with NOTHING…….and gave us EVERYTHING.
That was my Uncle George.
❤💔