A history

I woke up early today got on a train to Long Beach and took my 74 year old Aunt out to a belated birthday lunch. My Aunt Mary is a character; unlike any one I've ever known. She's a combination of Mother Theresa and Samantha from Sex and the City. Generous, open minded, overbearing, over the top; she is a force of nature. I am blessed to have her in my life- a 50 minute train ride away.

We got to talking about my father's (her brother) side of the family. The side that encompasses my Italian Herritage. My dad passed away when I was a teenager. While I knew each of my 7.... Yes 7 Uncles and Aunts (5 uncles and 2 aunts) I didn't know them well. My grandfather died before I was ever born. And even though my grandmother lived in a big house adjacent from mine growing up, she spoke little English and died when I was very young.

Anyway I was telling my Aunt the few details I remember about grandma. I remember butterscotch candies and unwrapping them and the big dimly lit house where she lived. I remember liking this place. I was probably about 2 or 3.

I got into asking about my grandfather. Here I am 29 years old finally interested in my family's story.

My grandfather Gaetano moved to Brooklyn NY when he was about 17. At the time, I'm told, the Mafia was very present. My grandfather hated it. So he migrated along the river and settled in the Hudson Valley. It reminded him of where he grew up in a town called San Josepi, Italy (I believe). My aunt has been there and says the two places resemble each other with their rolling mountains and close proximity to the water. And so it was there that he found his new home. He began selling produce right out of his truck which afforded him the opportunity to travel back to Italy where he met his future wife Brigeda. My grandfathers brother who was a priest married the two. It was an intimate ceremony.



At about my age now, 29, my gradfather brought his wife back to the states. He opened his own grocery store in Beacon NY, the town in which I grew up. The store thrived. My grandmother had her first child who months after being born died of pneumonia. It was a terrible time for her, as you would imagine. She had multiple miscarriages and while visiting the local doctor she was told she would no longer be able to conceive. Grandpa did not accept this. He brought her to a specialist down in NYC. The specialist explained that stress was the problem. My grandmother was depressed and missed Italy terribly. She miraculously became pregnant and as soon as her first daughter Fortuna was born, she went back to visit. The English translation of her first daughter's name is fortunate. This is so beautiful to me. And so when she arrived back in the States she was renewed and both her and my grandfather opened a baby making factory. When all was said and done, the couple raised and sent seven children to college. That's right. The immigrant couple who spoke so little English sent seven children through college. I am amazed at this.
This is perhaps information my father has relayed when I was a teen half listening. But now that I'm focused on my path to self discovery, I am fascinated by all the details. I asked her so many specific questions about her specific memories and I was super invested in hearing all of the answers.
Today is the first time I'm experiencing a certain pride in my roots.

I look at my grandfather, a man I never met, who I am indebted to for my whole existence, and I am in awe. It gives me so much hope to know that in my blood exists that kind of drive and tenacity. Today I found a greater piece of my identity by finding out the identity of some one who's path I never crossed.