• With: Neil Cavuto

    My father used to call him, "The Little Tree." His littlest brother.

    The youngest child of Italian immigrants, who couldn't even speak the language, trying to make a go of it in this country called America.

    Like so many immigrants. Like so many families. Filled with so many dreams.

    But this was my family. That was my dad. And that little tree that was my uncle.

    My uncle Anthony. Anthony Cavuto. Tony, for short.

    90 years ago yesterday, he came into this world.

    Early this morning, he left it.

    Quietly. Peacefully. With his family gathered around him and only hours after he reached out to his sole surviving sibling to simply say goodbye.

    Another of the greatest generation leaving this world at a pace far too fast.

    I guess that's what everyone says about time.

    Where did it go?

    Where did all our loved ones go?

    The people who were so much a part of our lives now just photos we refuse to let go.

    Like this one of my uncle dancing with his daughter Kathy.

    Or singing with his now departed brothers and sole surviving sister at my own wedding 30 years ago.

    That's uncle Anthony on the far right, the guy egging him on in the tux my dad singing horribly right next to him.

    All products of a Depression. And a world war that defined them.

    And in my uncle Anthony's case, shaped the very stick-to-it-veness that made him. After serving our country, he put himself through college, even as he worked full-time, trying to feed his young family.

    He did pretty well in life, but never acted like it.

    Claimed he was just a lucky Italian and he was soaking up every minute of it.

    He enjoyed the challenge as much as he enjoyed playing golf, even if he failed miserably teaching his chubby nephew the game. Uncle Anthony was always game, I was always horrible.

    A man of remarkable patience and ease, even in the face of tragedy.

    Even after he and my aunt Marian had to bury a son.

    Nothing, nothing could bury their love. Or their commitment to each other in a marriage that spanned more than 60 years.

    Never complaining. Always doing. And more times than i liked, quite often singing.

    Such is life. Such was his.

    Such was my dad's and my mom's and so many of that generation with whom so many of us can relate, and to whom we will always be grateful even when they're gone especially when they're gone.

    Because they're not just in our hearts, they're in our DNA.

    Anthony Cavuto dead at 90.