Until I was six, I thought Uncle Sally’s name was Who-Gives-A-Sh*t. The neighbors, the few friends he had, his business associates, the family – even his mother, my Nana. She’d hoped the label wouldda’ forced her caro Salvatore to change his lackadaisical attitude towards everything.
But it never did.
I think having a nickname like that weighed on Nana’s dear Salvatore, more than the truck load of 50 pound sacks of flour he lugged on his shoulders six days a week delivering to all the bakeries in the county. Yes. I said ALL. Still, it’s no excuse for his disrespect. Some say it was Continue reading