I want to share one of my early childhood memories about how dad would arrive home when we were kids, as it illustrates his character.  As he came up the front porch steps, he sounded a loud and distinctive whistle using his lips and teeth.  This was our cue to spring into action:  We would all crowd around the front door to greet him.  I am the youngest, and I was small enough to “hide” behind the door.   He would open the door and wade into a mob of Paul, Kathy and John, and when he got far enough past the door, I would jump out at him.  Of course, he would always act surprised.

Often, he would wrestle with us all for a few minutes.  Sometimes, this wrestling was in the form of “Pillow and Blanket.”  He would declare he was tired, and lie down on the living room floor.  Then he said he was uncomfortable, and he’d pull one of us down and prop his head on that child as a pillow.  He said he was cold, and his big, strong, yet gentile hands would capture another child to drape across himself for a blanket.  Then he said he needed another blanket or a softer pillow; but in trying to capture the needed item, the pillow or blanket would escape, and the game would continue.  Dad, lying on his back, would try to capture us as we danced around him, trying to be as close as possible yet staying just out of reach.  Dad’s arrival home each day was a happy celebration – a joyous reunion. 

This type of greeting went on before I can remember to some years after I was walking, so it spanned quite a few years.  I work full-time, and I am now about the same age he was when I first recall this happening (no spring chickens).  When I come home after a busy day of work and a commute in heavy traffic, I am tired and ready for a few minutes of quiet and relaxation.  He probably was tired too, but he set that aside and made himself fully available to us.  Each day he gave us the gift of shared joy.

I first met Al in 1990.  His son, John, had started a walk across the country; when John announced he was going to be walking across the country and would be gone for about nine months, I decided I liked him.

John and I decided to meet in Santa Fe during the spring of his cross-county trek, and I got this call from a man that made me think of Santa Claus.  It was Al.  He had jovial-sounding voice, and laughed quite a bit.  I agreed to have dinner with him.

I drove to his home, which was in a scary part of Oakland, and I found that he had invited a second young woman, his niece, Gina Castro, to have dinner with us.  So, here we were-- Al and two young women and enough food to easily feed ten.  We had potato leek soup, salad (with lots of veggies and homemade dressing), chicken with a tomato sauce and sliced onions placed carefully on top.  All homemade.  All delicious.  Al’s dining room and kitchen were separate rooms, and he kept popping up out of his chair and running to the kitchen to serve Gina and me.  We burst out laughing when he brought out the strawberry shortcake for dessert.  He had thought of everything.  It was so much food, and he made it all.

I thought Al invited me to dinner because he wanted to meet me.  That was part of it.  He also wanted me to deliver a See’s Candies rocky road Easter egg to John.  (It was spring after all.)  And so began my life with Al Faustini.  He called me his girl, and I loved him.  I am grateful to have known him and to be included in his fold.