Roommates

---

My grandfather had already lived a

lifetime before I first heard him whistle.

Boy, was I afraid

of him back then.

When he was only a little boy,

his parents died in Poland.

In the winter of 1895, he set

sail for the United States...

all by himself.

When he landed, he immediately

demanded an American name.

The guys at Ellis Island

called him Rocky.

They must have

known something.

He settled in Pittsburgh

where he married Mary Kahorsky...

the finest bowler

in Polish Hill.

They had two kids...

my Aunt Basha

and my father, David.

In 1957, he met my mother,

Helen. They married.

Seven months later,

I was born.

These things happen,

even in good Catholic families.

My only memory of my father was

when Pirate Bill Mazeroski...

homered to win

the World Series.

Rocky and my father

screamed like lunatics.

I hid under my bed thinking

something awful had happened.

It was about to.

Just after Christmas, I was told

my father had been killed...

in a place called Vietnam.

Even after my dad died, Mom and I

would visit Rocky every weekend.

She seemed to understand him

better than anyone.

Then in the summer of '63,

she was suddenly taken away as well.

I decided I was bad luck

to have around.

Dupa ranei pusci.

- Papa.

- He don't understand Polish.

"May your ass sprout boils

while you sleep."

See, I told her when Basha's

brother got killed in the army.

I said to Helen, "You're a widow with a

young son. You got to plan for the future."

But did she listen? People always

think they're gonna live forever.

So, what are we gonna do

about Michael?

Well, I suppose he could

stay with us...

and finish out

the school year.

We got three of our own already, Bets.

We're squeezing out the door.

- What about a church home? - That's not

a bad idea. Let the nuns take care of him.

He'd get a good education.

Rest of the boys would be his family.

- Geez, I don't know.

- Ah, face it, sweetie.

Neither of us got the room or the

money to take on another kid.

A home.

It's the best idea.

You can all stop talking.

My grandson is moving

in here with me.

Papa, you can't possibly do it!

I raised you and your brother, didn't I?

Didn't turn out too bad.

Your taste in men always stunk.

But nobody's perfect.

- That's unfair, Papa.

- Oh, stop calling me Papa.

Suppose we send you to a home, you fat

son of a b*tch. See how you like it!

- Papa, be reasonable.

- Ah, reasonable.

Reason and family got nothing

to do with one another.

Michael's six years old. He comes

to live with you. He gets attached.

And then, God forbid, in two years, four

years, something could happen to you!

- What could happen?

- Anything.

- Anything? What? - Rocky,

you're not a young man no more.

You could get sick.

You're not gonna live forever.

Stop worrying about me,

'cause I'll bury all of ya.

- Papa, will you listen?

- The child stays!

Conversation over.

The man has the personality

of a clenched fist.

- I heard that!

- Stash, would you shut up?

Mikey, black or white?

The usual?

He'll have black too, Bolek.

It's on the house.

Am I coming to stay

with you now?

Well, if you want.

That's your decision.

Good. Settled.

For how long?

For as long as you need me.

Good. Settled.

How come you whistled at the

funeral? No one else did.

Well, sometimes when your

heart is broke...

it's good to whistle.

- Is your heart broke?

- But it's still beating.

Otherwise, I would

be dead too.

Mine too.

I can't whistle.

Well, that's easy. You just take

your lips, and you make an "O."

Now blow.

That's good.

You got talent.

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