As I am living in my grandmothers old house now - I feel like I am immersed these thoughts. I feel like a piece of her spirit is in mine as I move through this house and the memories of the old italian ways that were my Grandma's become so vivid. When I saw this piece, it really touched me- because its exactly the thoughts that are coming to my mind now. It made me smile and even cry a little. If you are Italian with grandparents "off the boat" I know you will find a few precious thoughts in here that will make you smile and warm your heart - Much love to you all. - Queen
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I am sure for most second generation Italian American children who grew up
in the 40's and 50's there was a definite distinction between us and them.
We were Italians, everybody else, the Irish, the Germans, the Poles, they
were Americans.
I was well into adulthood before I realized I was an American. I had been
born American and lived here all my life, but Americans were people who ate
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on mushy white bread. I had no animosity
towards them, it's just I thought ours was the better way with our bread
man, egg man, javelle man, vegetable man, the chicken man, to name a few of
the peddlers who came to our neighborhoods. We knew them, they knew us.
Americans went to the A&P. It amazed me that some friends and classmates on
Thanksgiving and Christmas ate only turkey with stuffing, potatoes, and
cranberry sauce. We had turkey, but after antipasto, soup, lasagna,
meatballs and salad. In case someone came in who didn't like turkey, we also
had a roast of beef. Soon after we were eating fruits, nuts, pastries and
homemade cookies sprinkled with little colored things.
This is where you learned to eat a seven course meal between noon and four
PM, how to handle hot chestnuts and put peaches in wine. Italians live a
romance with food.
Sunday s we would wake up to the smell of garlic and onions frying in olive
oil. We always had macaroni and sauce. Sunday would not be Sunday without
going to mass. Of course you couldn't eat before mass because you had to
fast before receiving communion. We knew when we got home we'd find
meatballs frying, and nothing tasted better than newly cooked meatballs with
crisp bread dipped into a pot of hot gravy.
Another difference between them and us was we had gardens. Not just with
flowers, but tomatoes, peppers, basil, lettuce and "cucuzza".
Everybody had a grapevine and fig tree. In the fall we drank homemade wine
arguing over who made the best. Those gardens thrived because we had
something our American friends didn't seem to have. We had Grandparents.
It's not that they didn't have grandparents. It's just they didn't live in
the same house or street. We ate with our grandparents, and God forbid we
didn't visit them 3 times a week I can still remember my grandfather telling
us how he came to America when he was young, on the "boat".
I'll never forget the holidays when the relatives would gather at my
grandparent's house, the women in the ki tchen, the men in the living room,
the kids everywhere. I must have fifty cousins. My grandfather sat in the
middle of it all drinking his wine he was so proud of his family and how
well they had done.
When my grandparents died, things began to change. Family gatherings were
fewer and something seemed to be missing. Although we did get together
usually at my mother's house, I always had the feeling grandma and grandpa
were there.
It's understandable things change. We all have families of our own and
grandchildren of our own. Today we visit once in a while or meet at wakes or
weddings. Other things have also changed. The old house my grandparents
bought is now covered with aluminum siding. A green lawn covers the soil
that grew the tomatoes.
THERE WAS NO ONE TO COVER THE FIG TREE..SO IT DIED.
The holidays have changed. We still make family "rounds" but somehow things
have become more formal. The great quantities of food we consumed, without
any ill effects, is not good for us anymore Too much starch, too much
cholesterol, too may calories in the pastries.
The difference between "us" and "them" isn't so easily defined anymore, and
I guess that's good. My grandparents were Italian-Italians, my parents were
Italian-Americans. I'm an American and proud of it, just as my grandparents
would want me to be. We are all Americans now...the Irish, Germans, Poles,
all U.S. Citizens.
But somehow I still feel a little bit Italian. Call it culture...call it
roots...I'm not sure what it is. All I do know is that my children,
grandchildren, nieces, and nephews, have been cheated out of a wonderful
piece of our heritage.