My father, George Solinas, was a man of true moral courage. When I was a child growing up, he had a way of explaining things that gave me perspective and allowed me to see the bigger picture. When he and my mom argued, I secretly, and sometimes not so secretly, took his side. This was easy for me to do because I was so much like him, but also because he had a way of seeing both sides of the argument and not just digging in for the fight. He was one of the most rational human beings I’ve ever known.
His energy and enthusiasm for everything, from building a new deck on the back of every house we moved into to making homemade ravioli “just for the fun of it,” were contagious.
My dad was the youngest of six children, born in Oakland, California, to Italian immigrant parents. His mother worked in the canneries and was a loving presence in his life. His dad became an alcoholic, and Dad would tell me stories about waiting under the stairs for him to get home in hopes that he could somehow fend off the abusive attacks on his mom that would often ensue.