Today, we bleed green, white, and red in our home, just the way I did growing up in Louisiana-a stronghold for Italians even today, thanks to the port of New Orleans. My mother was Sicilian (Alese to be exact), and my father was Foggiano (Cagnese). Welcome to living under the influence of Italians and the love of all things Italy-Club Italophile. Heck, I’ve seen people with one percent or no percent Italian in their bloodlines who express love and pride for things Italian as if they were native Italian. The funny thing is, you don’t have to be 100 percent Italian to be considered Italian. I not only have the DNA tests to prove it, but also one has only to give a quick glance at the first four generations of my family surnames (Pizzillo, Miceli, DiNauta, D’Ippolito, Sedita, Benvenga, Lombardi, Garone). Both of my parents are 100 percent Italian. I’m a second-generation Italian American. I’ve grown up under the influence of Italians all my life. October is Italian Heritage Month in the United States. They exiled their royal family and became a republic. It commemorates the day in 1946 when Italians voted to do away with their monarchy. June 2 is a national holiday in Italy known as the Festival of the Republic (Festa della Repubblica). My wife has now conceded to being an Italophile. Why, America itself owes its very name to an Italian, Amerigo Vespucci. They often remind my wife-invited or not-how she is the continual beneficiary of Italians: fine clothes, food, entertainment, furniture, lifestyle. My children, although only 50 percent Italian, are fiercely loyal to and proud of their Italian heritage. Perhaps one day I will return to Italy for good and do a double take on the immigration thing and see how it feels to return to a land where you are the outside element, the black sheep coming home so to speak.“Oh my goodness! It’s just a little sliver of a country! Where does all the nauseating Italian pride come from?!” my Anglo-Saxon wife of 30 years often expresses incredulously in our home. It makes me feel really sad to acknowledge that within the next 25 years most of if not all of what is left of our proud heritage will have passed/faded into distant memories. These days we meet at weddings and wakes. Slowly at first, but then uncles and aunts eventually began to cut down on their visits. And my grandfather, with his gallon jug of wine beside his chair, sitting there grinning his mischievous smile, his eyes twinkling, surveying his domain, proud of how well his family has done.īut sadly things are winding down, we are now all over the place. I must have half a million cousins, first and second and some who aren't even related, but what does it matter. Women in the kitchen and men in the living room, and kids, kids everywhere. I remember the holidays when all the relatives would gather at my grandparent's house and there would be tables full of food and homemade wine and music. This sort of complimented our traditions too. One of my uncles had the OLDS 442 back in the day when the 442 really meant something the other had a Cougar SS and to complete the mix one uncle had the AMC Javelin it would get 2 miles to the gallon. and the rest of the family had equivalent horsepower rated cars. My Dad had the Grand Torino GT with a 351 Cleveland complete with Blower. We had a 10 car rally all of us passing others in synch. I can still remember the races over 100mph on the roads of Quebec I am a First Generation Immigrant yet I am turning 46 this year.īut when I look back at the wonderful times ofĮveryone off to beach on Sunday, let’s run our own version
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