For a man who never stepped foot into my parents’ home, Kenny Pizzo has held unusual status in my family for decades. Half man/ half myth; his presence is felt every year, and his name is referenced far more often than I’m certain he ever knows.
So who the heck is the legendary Kenny Pizzo? And how does he rise to such esteemed status?
Let’s start at the best part: the beginning.
Kenny Pizzo grows up in 1950s Lyndhurst, New Jersey, a working-class suburb in the shadow of New York City. It is here that he meets and becomes friends with my mom, Mary Ann. There’s nothing especially notable about their friendship. They never date, and they aren’t inseparable buddies. So, after graduating from Lyndhurst High School in the late ’50s, Kenny and Mary Ann go off and carve out their own lives, and like most high school friendships, time and distance causes their connection to fade.
For most of my life, I never hear of the guy.
My sister never hears of him.
My dad? He never hears a word.
Mom never tells a story about him, and we never see a single picture.
Who the heck is Kenny Pizzo but just another name in a dust-covered yearbook buried somewhere in the basement?
At least that’s how it is for many years.
Then, poof, the internet happens.
Suddenly, all those people who drifted out of our lives are just a few clicks away, and a group of old Lyndhurst classmates reconnect. Decades have passed, and it’s time for a reunion. However, my mom isn’t one of the attendees. Sure, she sends a few emails and has a couple phone calls, but ultimately Mary Ann does not to make the trip back to North Jersey.
It’s nice hearing those old names again, but for my mom, that’s enough. Time to get back to life.
Or so Mary Ann thinks.
Fast forward to the following Mothers’ Day, and a surprise shows up at my parents’ doorstep, a beautiful bouquet of flowers.
I didn’t send them. My dad didn’t order them. They weren’t from my sister.
I think you know where this is going.
Yup. It’s Kenny Pizzo.
My mom is floored, and just like that, the legend of Kenny Pizzo is born inside the Smith household.
Mom reaches out to Kenny, and they share a few laughs. Kenny simply wants her to know he is thinking about her and wishes her well. Those Lyndhurst High School days mean something to Kenny, and from that year forward, every Mother’s Day brings another beautiful bouquet for Mary Ann.
Kenny does a nice thing, but what he doesn’t realize; he’s created a monster. These flowers make his name a regular talking point in our home.
If my parents get into a disagreement over something silly, my dad chirps out “Get in the car, Mary Ann. I’m shipping you off to Kenny Pizzo’s.”
If dad overcooks the Christmas filet, either my sister or I jump in with, “I bet Kenny Pizzo grills a streak better than this.” Then mom adds “I knew I should have made a move on Pizzo when I had the chance.”
This banter goes on and on and on, and the Pizzo family has no idea we were having this much fun at Kenny’s expense.
But we are.
And we do it all the time.
This routine goes on for years, but in the summer of 2020, things change.
One day in late July, I notice something isn’t quite right with my normally jovial dad.
We go to see a doctor.
Less than three weeks later, my dad is gone.
With the snap of a finger, our world turns upside down.
My mother, now living with a nerve disorder that has left her handicapped, can’t live alone. There’ s grieving to do, a house to sell, and a new place to find for mom to live. All of it sucks, and during moments like this, plenty of seemingly important things slip through the cracks.
Eventually, we resurface. Mom finds a place where she can get the little extra help she needs, but the calendar doesn’t care what chaos is swirling around your life. The calendar just keeps moving forward.
Sure enough, the next May rolls around, and my mom gets a call from one of her old neighbors.
“Mary Ann, you’ve got a flower delivery for Mother’s Day. It must be someone who didn’t know you moved.”
Like clockwork, another Kenny Pizzo delivery arrives right on time.
The flowers make their way to my mom’s new apartment, and soon after a phone call with Kenny. He shares his condolences, but his generosity doesn’t stop there.
Does my mom need anything?
Is she okay financially?
What can he do to help?
For a woman he hasn’t seen in more than half a century, Kenny Pizzo is prepared to drop everything for an old friend who might be in need.
Thankfully, my mom is okay, but the two old friends talk for a while. They talk about Kenny coming to visit. Maybe grabbing lunch together. In the next month or two, he’ll make the trip. It’ll be fun.
That’s the last time my mom talks with Kenny Pizzo.
He dies that fall.
When my father dies, I remember calling many of his old friends and colleagues to share the news. These conversations are difficult, but I am comforted by the stories they tell me. My dad was a fun-loving guy who loved getting a laugh, and during these calls I hear stories about him I’d never heard before.
Every single one feels like gold.
When I read Kenny Pizzo’s obituary, I feel compelled to share his legendary status inside the Smith household with the Pizzo family. So, I track down Kenny’s son in Florida and send him a note sharing much of what you’ve just read.
I don’t expect a response. I simply wanted the Pizzos to know their dad cast an even bigger shadow than they probably know. My only hope is that a story like this might ease their pain, maybe just a little bit.
At least, that’s my wish.
A few days ago, that pesky calendar rolls into May once again, and Mother’s Day shows up right on schedule.
So, I hop in the car to go visit my mom.
Mothers’ Days aren’t quite the same as they used to be, but they’re still pretty special.
I walk into my mom’s apartment; she doesn’t say a word. She simply points toward the counter, at a vase filled with fresh hydrangeas and lilies that lights up the room.
Next to it sits a small card.
It reads: “On behalf of my father, Ken Pizzo, signed Jason Pizzo.”
The legend of Kenny Pizzo lives on.
Comments