My son Michael George Santangelo, Jr., passed away on December 30, 2012. He was merely sixteen (16) years old.
I remember being in the Bahamas when he was five. We went with my brother and his Godfather, my brother George and his sons, G.M. and Chris. They along with my daughter, Maria Rose, were on the deck overlooking the water when Michael put his arms around them and uttered “this is the life, guys.”
I remember our incredible trips to Italy with my sister Georgia and my brother-in-law Rod, which made him so happy. Michael made a toast over dinner stating” A family is like a journey. This vacation was a pit stop I desperately needed.” Michael admired and looked up to Devon Porter, Georgia and Rod’s son, and served as his “wingman” to pick up girls. When this didn’t work, they put their money together and Michael used all of the change he had collected to buy a spear gun. Michael and Devon could be seen walking ominously on the beach in Italy with the gun ready to kill their prey. Unfortunately, there were no fish in the waters.
Then there was golf. He hated it and called it an old man’s sport. He was entered into golf clinics and often went missing. One day, while he was in a match on the Par 3, little nine-hole course, I arrived late from work and hurried to see him compete. I found him and his opponent walking back from the fifth hole. When I asked Michael what happened, he exclaimed that “it was too hot and I wanted a hotdog.” He also hated swimming. He was signed up for the swim team at Westchester Country Club, and he was such a poor swimmer, I often joked that I hoped he didn’t sink. One day, Maria did not see him at practice, and the coaches asked where he was. Maria went to look for him and found him with a friend playing in the shallow end of the same pool. Maria gave him sound advice, that if he was going to cut practice, don’t stay in the very pool where the practice was being held.
And then there was baseball. I had never really played as a child but began to coach in order to spend time with him. He initially hated baseball and when I told him it was “America’s Past-Time,” he would respond “it’s past its time.” I coached for seven years and had him play catcher. On one very hot day, I yelled out in the third inning, “Michael, put on your gear.” He stomped his feet, pouted, and called me a “fat lard.” Everyone on the team laughed. My official record was one win and thirty losses, but Michael became an excellent player. He had the most speed on the team and became the starting catcher for Greenwich Catholic for two years.
Then there was basketball. His evolution epitomized to me what he could have achieved had he lived a long life. He started playing with the Rye Recreation league for five years. He hustled more than any player but was not a very good player. He would knock kids to the ground and foul out of the game in less than five minutes. He would leap into the stands to save a ball, and despite his shortcomings, he gave it all he had. When he went to Greenwich Catholic he had improved so much, he was their starting guard. He would often shoot 100’s of shots in the backyard and he became an all-around player. Now if he knocked someone down, he would help them up and make sure they were alright. He taught me what a gentleman athlete is. At his high school, Loyola, he started as a freshman and was on his way to becoming a star.
Michael would always look after the younger kids. He volunteered and taught religion to the Spanish children at Corpus Cristi in Port Chester. He was an incredible person.
Anyone who knew him knew about his smile. He could light up a room. His wit and sarcasm were second to none. He would treat a busboy with as much respect as anyone, thanking them for their service. I learned a lot from him.
He loved rap music and knew every word to any Eminem song and all of the other rap artists. He would rap in the car using his hand motions, and when a curse word came up, he would make noise rather than cursing. When the shooting occurred at Newtown, shortly before his death, he wrote on Facebook “let’s all pray for the victims of Newtown.” He was so diverse and caring.
He would be so proud of what we have accomplished in his name.