A place for Quattrones, Betteridges, and Praticos to share our family stories, history, and heritage.
Growing up on 10th Street in the 1970s and 1980s, I had plenty of family to admire. Looking back, I can clearly remember so looking forward to holidays because that meant everyone would be drawn back to gather at Helen’s, Connie’s, Beppa’s, and our house. When it wasn’t a holiday, most days were me and all of the Italian women in the family.
When Jeff Betteridge moved in with Helen I remember thinking he was so cool. He was a carpenter. He grew a beard. The older girls in the neighborhood would stop me and ask about him. What isn’t cool about all of that? He was pretty darn cool.
Yet there was something else that happened when I was about twelve years old that still sticks with me today.
Jeff played ice hockey with during the Father-Son game at Springfield Ice Rink in Delaware County. We’re talking early 1980s. He stood in as my “dad” for the game to make sure I had someone to play with. I can’t remember if I asked him or my mom asked him or how it all came down, but I remember him playing with me…and I remember he was the best “dad” on the ice.
I’m sure Jeff and mom remember different details about it–apparently a really fat dad fell on my head at one point–but the most important thing I wanted to share from that story is how much I admired Jeff (and still do) after that night. He became more than just cool to me. Over thirty years later and I still get to say thank you.
Thanks, Jeff! I’ve never forgotten it.