The Healing Journey

February 15, 2026

A father’s final journey

By Greg Mango

We are originally from New Jersey and when we moved to Connecticut, we would take road trips to visit our relatives in New Jersey. My dad is from Newark, my mom from Ramsey, and we lived in Paterson. We settled in Brookfield in 1968. My dad, Carmine, would pile everyone in our old 1965 Buick Special station wagon, which included six kids, plus my mother, Audrey. What a disaster!

We would always predict if my father would let out an expletive or multiple expletives before we got to the New York State border on Route 84. Invariably, he usually did not make it out of Brookfield before some erupted! My mother, Audrey, told him to pipe down, there were kids in the car. Being Roman Catholic, he responded with “I’ll go to confession and say a few more Hail Marys.” He was usually angry when driving and told everyone to “Shush up!”

I attended Southern Connecticut State and played offensive left guard. We beat Central Connecticut State, our arch rival 31-0. Those were my glory days. Southern was cheap, $750 per semester, $1,100, room and board, had my major, marine biology, had football and was close, so my family could see me play.

I took out loans and worked part time, while attending, to cover expenses at Southern. We had six kids, so my parents were up against it financially. But it taught me the value of education and effort it took to attend college. My parents taught me a good work ethic. I asked my father about some type of allowance when I got to be of age, and he emphatically screamed , “You’ll get nothing and like it!” So I cut five lawns in my neighborhood with a push mower I bought at a tag sale for $20. I umpired little league baseball games for three bucks, for the plate, and two bucks for the bases. I rode my bike five miles to get to the field.

He said, “Son, if you want money, go out and earn it.” He passed away in 2015 of brain cancer. I really miss him. He made a great pot of gravy every Sunday. We always had a macaroni dinner with gravy for early Sunday afternoon dinners at about 4:30 pm. In Newark, they called Italian sauce, gravy. He put porchetta, braciola, meatballs with pine nuts and raisins, pepperoni, and sausage in his gravy. A cholesterol nightmare, but it was so delicious. I’ll never forget it … or him.

***