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His life changed mine.
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He was my role model.
I wanted to be exactly like him.
As a kid, I would watch him and hope to be like him one day.
He would chew toothpicks…I would go home and chew them, trying to be like him.
He would gel his hair…..so would I.
He collected baseball cards as a kid….I started as well.
I remember now having a framed picture of him on my desk as a kid - of his high school graduation.
More than anyone else, I wanted to be like him.
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Yet as the years went on,
and I grew up,
the things I would notice about him, evolved.
No longer did I see his toothpicks or love for cooking or gelled hair as so important.
I saw far more powerful things,
things far more important to follow, to learn from.
I saw his love for the underprivilged….his desire to work with the needy, with kids who needed a role model, a mentor, a positive male influence in their lives.
Because of this, uncle Jay became a juvenile probation officer.
Devoting his life to serve the hardened kids of New Haven, CT who needed a big brother and mentor,
Uncle Jay met that need in so many kids.
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And I, his nephew, am one of those kids.
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For as long as I can remember,
He would always be the one to ask about my life….to ask about what things I was involved in.
Jason actually cared…..
Everyone loved him….everyone, even members of our shared family would work for his attention.
But he would sit with me, take me out places, actually show an interest in me.
I wasnt the coolest of his nephews.
My cousins were bigger and cooler and more popular than I was.
They would joke with him and brag to him about what I honestly thought were more interesting stories than anything I had to offer him.
But it didnt matter.
Jason would step away from them all to sit with me.
Those times were….those were are invaluable to me.
I would feel so….special.
I loved those times of talking.
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As the years passed, and I became more and more involved in the same field as my uncle, our talks would often become more of sharing stories together about the kids we were working with -
his in Connecticut, mine in Chicago and Ohio.
It became less of the wide eyed, thin little nephew just listening to his uncle,
and more of an ability and desire to talk with him about things.
To go to him for advise when the girl I worked with was raped.
For advise when the kid I mentored was having trouble at home and school.
For help understanding the allure of gang life on my kids.
To help see the importance of mentoring.
For advise from someone who had been down the path I was taking, and learned from mistakes. Pieces of advise he had picked up along the way, and could now pass down to me, one following in his footsteps.
For encouragement to keep going, to keep pushing forward even when the work seemed to accomplish nothing, when it seemed useless.
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And it wasnt just because I was doing the same work as him,
It was because he cared about me.
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At the break of each semester of college, when I would come home, I would see him.
He would ask with genuine interest of my last semester, of what things I’d become involved in,
of how the things we had talked through last time were progressing,
of what things I was thinking about for the future.
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I really loved those times.
I think more than I can describe.
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Because of all this….
Its hard going back to America.
Its hard because I know he’s not there anymore.
Knowing I can never go to him again for advise, for help, for encouragement, for conversation with someone who understood me and cared for me.
Were he still alive, he would be one of the first to call me,
to drive down to meet with me,
to take me out for a crab dinner just to listen….just to let me talk about my experience.
I miss him so much right now my heart hurts.
I’ve stopped fighting the tears as Ive been writing this.
They run down my face,
Tissues line the top of this table, and I’ve stopped caring.
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The man I hoped to be one day is no longer there.
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I guess this blog, if nothing else, is just to say thanks to him.
To thank him for his influence on my life,
To thank him for loving me, for making time for me.
It is to say that were it not for him, I dont think I would have ever come to Iraq, choosing to work with needy Iraqi children.
For all of you who have sent me messages and emails and comments for my time here - all the times you have thanked me for the work I’ve done here, all the times you have told me you respect it
and am grateful I’m doing what I’m doing -
….you should thank Jason Gigliotti.
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On June 23rd 2008, as I was working with the youth of inner city Chicago, Jason Gigliotti died unexpectantly in Connecticut.
He died quickly, before I could find a flight home. I never had the chance to thank him, to tell him of his influence on my life.
He died before I could say goodbye.
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One of the last photos we took together.
