The Village That Raised Me
And the impact it had on my outlook and life path
By Ron Ciancutti
When Hillary Clinton titled her book, It Takes a Village, published in 2006, I remember pausing to let the title sink in, and then smiled and nodded, as it made so very much sense. The clear reference that many influences are involved in building one’s life had also been the locomotion of my life, and the older I got, that philosophy became clearer. It became such a mainstay that later—when I became a father—I embraced it continuously:
© Can Stock Photo / monkeybusiness
When the football coach came to dinner and reminded my son that he needed to display leadership skills along with being talented.
When my daughter’s sixth-grade teacher took her to lunch and suggested she might accomplish more by challenging herself with tougher classes.
When a cousin, who was becoming a successful insurance adjuster, took my daughters to her office on a Saturday to show them her prestigious office and 10th-story view of the park. That and then a hot dog from a street-vendor made all three of them sure they wanted careers before husbands.
So now, retired, I look back at those people who were so influential in my life:
1. The school principal who visited me at home when I had pneumonia. I had been out for a week, and he called to tell my mother the school just wasn’t the same without Ron running the safety patrol and keeping things in order. He brought me a book and visited for a half-hour. It was 1969 and I felt very special; it was one of the first times I felt like a leader and that maybe I had more to offer than I realized.
2. The absolute, daily butt-kicking I received by making the eighth-grade football team. At 5-feet, 1-inch and 105 pounds, I was a virtual pinball on the field; but I earned my letter and hung in there for that seemingly endless season. I did it for my dad, and it was a real test of character. When he died, I put my letterman’s sweater in his coffin. Completing that cycle was a journey of devotion and love.
3. The ninth-grade counselor who grabbed me by the shoulders backstage when I had just been selected class president and said, “You will have many of these moments in your life.” As I came through the curtain to give my acceptance speech, I kept thinking, “How does she know that?”
4. Receiving my degree on stage from my favorite college professor, who said with a wink, “I can’t wait to see what you become.”
© Can Stock Photo / soupstock
5. Every treasured moment when I was told I had the job, received a promotion, won an award, or was recognized for a job well done. Each of those moments inspired the next.
6. My parents and sisters who were always in my corner, win or loss.
7. The bullies who forced me to make changes, as well as the girlfriends who decided to walk away and explained why. Were those tough moments? Sure. But valuable lessons.
8. My doting grandparents—all four of whom stayed in touch with me until the day they died. When my dad’s father died, the only things found in his wallet were a fifty-dollar bill and a business card from my first post-college job. And my mom’s mother loved me so thoroughly that I think she was the model for every Italian grandma in the movies; anyone who crossed me was cursed.
9. A wife who has stood by me for more than 33 years and exemplifies the type of devotion when she takes my hand each day and says with a smile, “OK, buddy, what’s next?”
10. Five amazing children and 16 grandchildren who visit constantly, providing endless entertainment with games, recitals, and concerts.
Yes, these are the pillars of the structure I call “my life.” From the village that helped raise and enrich me, my wife and I grew another village. On hot summer afternoons, usually Sundays, everyone gathers at the empty nest Nana and Papa still call home and eat me out of house and home. When they leave, my wife and I usually clean for an hour and then vow to get the rest tomorrow. We stumble to bed, and before nodding off, thank God for their health, their happiness, and mostly their place in our lives.
And when the kids grow up and leave us,
We’ll sit and look at that same old view, just we two,
Darby and Joan, who used to be Jack and Jill.
The folks who like to be called,
What they have always been called,
“The folks who live on the hill.”
--Song by Peggy Lee
Ron Ciancutti worked in the parks and recreation industry since he was 16 years old, covering everything from maintenance, operations, engineering, surveying, park management, design, planning, recreation, and finance. He is now retired. He holds a B.S. in Business from Bowling Green State University and an M.B.A. from Baldwin Wallace University. He is not on Facebook, but he can be reached at ron@northstarpubs.com.