Humor

My Superstitious Italian Father Had a Secret That Could Not Stay Buried

He carried it a little too far when items disappeared from the house

One of the most superstitious people I ever came across was my father. He was adamant about anything green coming into our house. As he believed it would bring bad luck, he took great precaution to be sure it never happened.

My mother wasn’t superstitious at all, but she seemed to go along with him. It was easier than arguing with him, as he was so set in his convictions. He was a character, for sure, and there was never a dull moment growing up.

After our family moved to Coney Island, we hosted a housewarming party where we received some beautiful gifts from family and friends. We were thrilled to have these fancy new household items, but the next day we discovered some of them were missing.

I asked my mother about the missing gifts, and she told me that they must have broken. None of us realized at the time that it was only the green items that were gone.

Four years later, our family purchased a house in New Jersey. It was the first time we had a yard to play in without another tenant living above or below us.

While it wasn’t perfect, it was a significant improvement from the apartment we had previously lived in, and once again, family and friends came over for another housewarming party.

I noticed again that more gifts came in and more gifts disappeared by morning.

This time, it did occur to me that only the green items went missing. It seemed like all the other gifts were being used in the house, but the green items were nowhere to be found. I couldn’t help but wonder if my father’s superstitions played a role in their disappearance.

I didn’t say anything at the time, but as I got older, I became more curious and asked my mother again for more information about what had happened to all the beautiful items that we should have been enjoying. This time, her answer was a little different.

“Well, you know your father and that thing he has for green. He did not want anything green in the house, so he disposed of them.” She quickly responded, attempting to walk away.

“Mom,” I shouted after her, “What did Daddy do with it all?”

“You’ll have to ask him, but I wouldn’t if I were you!” She answered, becoming a little annoyed.

No Answer Here

Pushing her for an answer wasn’t working. I remembered several pairs of green drapes that my aunt gave us years ago when we had no window coverings. Then, right after my aunt left, so did the curtains.

More green trinkets and gifts came and went over the years, but I never questioned him about them because my mother made a big deal out of not mentioning them to him.

Our family lived in that house until my siblings and I grew up and left for college or marriage. When it became more space than my parents needed, they decided to sell it and move to a beautiful condo by the shore where they could enjoy the ocean and walk on the boardwalk in their retirement years.

As I helped my parents pack for the big move, I realized there was not a single green item among their belongings. I truly thought some of the missing items were boxed up somewhere.

This observation reinforced my belief that my father’s superstitions about the color green had been deeply ingrained in our family’s culture, and I found over the years that I, too, avoided that color.

Hidden Burial Ground

A few years after my parents passed, I opened a dance studio in my hometown to teach classes and was able to attract local teachers to rent space.

One of the girls who came for an interview, an aerobics instructor named Cindy, lived in the area. When I asked her for her email address, it included the name of the very street I used to live on.

“What a coincidence! I used to live on a block right here in town with that name,” I remarked.

She told me that she now lives on that block and gave me the house number.

As it turned out, she and her family now own and live in the very house where I spent many years growing up. They had bought it from the family who bought it from the original owners, who were my parents.

A lot of thoughts went through my mind, and I questioned whether they upgraded the antiquated heating system. She promptly told me they ripped out a wall to put a larger system in.

“And by the way,” she added, “when we were digging around the edge of the property to add a fence, we found some unusual items that had been buried. It looked like they had been there for a while. Do you remember burying stuff in the yard?”

“No!” I replied, a little caught off guard, thinking they found animal bones. As I knew my father had buried all our dead pets on the property over the years, what else could she be talking about?

“Do you mean our pets?” I inquired.

“Not pets, other things, lots of other things.”

I suddenly recalled my father’s aversion to anything green and my mother admitting he could not throw the items out or they would bring worse luck, and it finally dawned on me where they ended up.

“Did you find anything strange about the items that were buried?” I asked, a little embarrassed.

“You mean that everything was some shade of green?”

Yes, that was it. I think I must have doubled over with laughter. I shared with Cindy the details of my father’s superstitious nature.

“Too bad, there was some nice stuff there, including children’s toys.”

As she was rattling off some of the buried treasures they found on the property, I remembered a new toy I had received for Christmas from a relative that I was allowed to play with for one day. Then it seemed to vanish into thin air overnight, probably one of the items discovered in my father’s little graveyard!

“We threw most of it out but managed to salvage some. Would you like to see the items we still have? You may have them back.” She went on almost apologetically.

“I think I’ll pass, but thanks!” Thinking to myself, who knows if there’s still a curse attached to that stuff? Maybe my father was onto something.

But I wondered, “How is it that we never caught him in the act?”

Then my mind went into overdrive. I suddenly had this vision of my father patiently waiting for us to fall asleep so he could sneak out into the darkness like a remorseless criminal.

I could picture him carrying his bag of innocent victims to a secluded spot in the yard where he meticulously began digging their little graves by flashlight, then unceremoniously interring our precious belongings to the ground, believing that for all eternity they would never be exhumed!

It would have been hilarious to see his reaction if he were still alive at the time of their accidental unearthing!

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