As the siblings grew older, they eventually married, enlisted in the U.S. Army, or went to trade school. I look back and wonder how she felt living alone in what was a boisterous household. As I grew up, I never lost my heartfelt feeling of love in her home. Never able to drive, we would take Nana on her errands, whatever they may be. She would always tell us to take a particular route (which we disobeyed since we had highways). Sometimes she would stay the night at the home that I grew up in, and I would always grab my sleeping bag to camp in the basement and give her my room. Saying goodnight to her would always get me a butterscotch candy which she conveniently had in her housedress.
When I would visit my Nana alone, we would sit on the porch, and she would always tell me stories of my mother and my aunts and uncles growing up. Always with love and never any reports of the struggles in her lifetime.
She would always remind me when I was born (3 months premature and a perforated ulcer, same as my late Uncle Victor) how she would pray for me and worry about my struggle to live outside of an incubator. My family was unable to visit the hospital, and most of the phone lines were down when I was born three days before the assassination of President Kennedy.
In the mid-'70s, my Nana was diagnosed with cancer. My aunts and my mother knew that if she heard the word "cancer," she would give up any will to live through it, so the family decided to tell her it was arthritis. Her doctors never used the "C" word during her visits, which was the family's instructions. The doctors told the family she had only months to live, and they were wrong. Nana outlived the doctors' predictions and died in September 1981. She was able to attend my high school graduation, which was a wish of hers. She always had such perseverance and love of family.
You may wonder where I am going with this story. My relationship with my Nana allowed me to embrace my heritage and learn to live life to its fullest with integrity.
My Italian traditions are the glue that held and still hold our loud, hungry, happy, loving family together. The traditions and customs go down from generation to generation. If I could sum up our Italian traditions in a few words, those words would be Faith, Family, Friends, and Food, or Fede, Famiglia, Amici, Cibo.
In our family, nothing in this world is more important than family. Family is everything. I don't have any memories of our family not doing something together. Whether it is a celebration, time for mourning, or a random Sunday, we are always together. We are always there for each other. We also value our friends; they are the family we get to pick. Finally, food. All those get-togethers involve food and not just regular food. I'm talking about full-fledged Italian deliciousness that can feed an army.
Faith, family, friends, and food are the backbone of our traditions. One of the year's highlights is when we celebrate the Feast of the Seven Fishes on Christmas Eve. This tradition is an example of one we continue to pass down to the next generation because it makes us who we are. We take part in these traditions as a family, with our friends and usually by enjoying food together.
One of my favorite things about our family is how I, my siblings, and my cousins grew up. Although we grew up in the U.S., we learned, appreciated, and lived our rich Italian culture and traditions. This connection to our heritage is one of the most important things about our family. My family continues to teach me about our culture, who we are, where we came from, and why we celebrate. This connection to my heritage is a bedrock in a turbulent, ever-changing world.
Italians tend to be joyful people, and I believe that is due to, in part, the various traditions and celebrations we take part in, but I also believe it's because of the love we share through our faith, family, friends, and food.
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