Did I tell you about one of the times Casi Italiano almost died? It was a cool autumn afternoon in the late 70’s. The three siblings Suave – Periodista, Casi Italiano and myself were playing Public Safety Officers and Fleeing Suspects on the vacant property on Pigeon beach, next to the abondoned cottage. While Periodista and I were hugging the ground shooting each other, Casi Italiano climbed an old weeping willow tree and dangled above us. Periodista and I were absorded in our efforts to riddle each other with imaginary bullets, when Casi Italiano appeared between us in a puff of dust. He fell belly-first with a muffled thud, and bounced once. He didn’t move for awhile. Niether did Periodista or I, caught as we were between wanting to laugh at how funny this was, or panic and shriek like school girls. Eventually we hurried over to our fallen brother and poked him a bit, saying, “Hey, get up”, and “Are you all right?”. For what seemed an eternity the boy didn’t breath. We gathered him up and shook him a bit, and he finally sucked in some air. Once he appeared to have come to his senses we let go and headed for home. Except Casi Italiano didn’t follow, he just rambled on a path back through the field. We caught up to him and gave him the test we’d seen given to boxers on t.v. shows, “What’s your name?”, “What day is it?”, “How many fingers…”. We just got grunts from the poor lad.
We brought him back to Erie house with much effort, as he attempted to ramble away every few yards. Granny, shocked to see a catotonic kid stumble into the house, put him to bed with a wet rag on his forehead.
In the next installment of The Times That Casi Italiano Almost Died I will recount for the Dear Reader the time Yours Truly set Casi Italiano’s head on fire.
Que dichosos somos,