I'm beginning to see this blog as a wonderfully therapeutic tool to cleanse myself through journalism. I feel ready to delve into my younger days. Maybe I should start with my parents. My Father was born in Rhode Island, but returned to Italy when he was around 2 years old. I don't think his Mother wanted to live here. He grew up in San Giorgio near the Adriatic city of Ancona in the region of Marche (pronounce markay).
They were very poor and it was my father, Rino, his brother, Luigi and two parents. He never told too many stories about growing up in Italy, just always laying into us that they had nothing and that we should realize how lucky we were and how good we have it. What kid ever realizes what they have or how good or bad it is? All kids want more, or I really should say, all kids test to see how far they can go and how much they can get. This is their way of testing their boundaries, which actually makes them feel safe to find reasonable ones in place.
My mother, Leda, was born in Compe di Collito near the city of Lucca in the region of Toscana Italy. My mother told me stories of growing up in Italy all the time and placed in me a yearning to see these places she spoke of. I have been there twice and can honestly say I feel a deep connection to the people and places. I'd be happy to spend my time in her little town and around Lucca and never see any of the "touristy" places. As I told my friends, it doesn't matter if you go to the museums etc... Even the place you have lunch at is filled with art and history.
My mother lived with her Mother, paternal Grandmother, older brother, Vincienzo and younger sister, Anna. Their father left for America when my mother was around 3 years old. From what she has said, it sounds like he was a big drinker and probably wanted to escape his responsibilities. He never came back to visit, although other men who went to America to make their fortunes did return periodically and he never sent money, either.
When she came to America in 1937, because her brother sent them the money for the trip, she was 17. She reunited with her father in Chicago after a 14 year absence. Having last seen him when she was three, she really had no recollection of him and had to get to know him all over again.
My mother had to do the hard work of farming in the foot hills of the Alps by the time she was five years old, climbing the mountain daily for water for their cow, chickens and rabbits that they raised. They sold the calf the cow had every year and sold the milk and eggs from the chickens. They could rarely keep any to consume for themselves. She had one dress to wear everyday and one pair of shoes that she saved to wear to church on Sunday, but took them off for the walk home. Otherwise, she went barefoot every where, even in the winter climbing the mountain.
I loved her stories about her cow the best. She loved her cow, Rosa, and felt a deep connection to her. My mother also instilled in me a love of animals. When we would walk to the store, or anywhere, she would stop to pet every stray cat or every dog behind a fence or being walked past us. There was never any fear of being bitten or scratched and I never remember an animal being mean to her. They came to her like she was made of pure sugar. She found pure joy in stroking their fur and I saw they found pure joy in her too.
I'm sure she still does this today and my children confirm her doing this with them. They are all animal lovers, too. In fact, one of my children became a Veterinarian and I'm sure her Nonna had a big impact on her. She was an impressionable child who observed everything very closely.
My parents met here, and I have never heard the story of how they met or when they decided to marry, so I have none of that. I know they were married a few days before my father would be called in to the service. I mentioned he joined the American Army during WWII. They were married for seven years and in all that time they never could get pregnant.
My mother had very irregular periods, but her doctor was never concerned about that. One doctor visit, her regular doctor was on vacation and he had another doctor filling in for him. She mentioned her problem to this doctor who put her on iodine tablets and within the next month or two my older sister, Dorothy was conceived.
My parents were 31 and 30 when my sister was born early in 1951. Old for that time. My mother had two more pregnancies that ended in miscarriage, the last one was at nearly 6 months. In mid 1957, 6 1/2 years after my sister, I was born to my 37 and 38 year old parents. Ancient for those times, for sure. My sister was celebrated, for proving they could have a child, but I think I was a disappointment at least to my father, because I was their last chance to have a boy, and I wasn't.
So this is some of my parents backgrounds, which definitely feeds into my background. The Male/Female condition is very important in an Italian/American Family. In fact, I would say it is crucial to most European families of that generation. Girls are regarded for keeping house and bearing children, but all the real hope is focused on the boys, who will carry on the family name and in older times would inherit all properties and titles.
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