Handy
I'm half Italian, a quarter Irish and a quarter German. I used to joke that I was genetically engineered to eat too much, drink too much, and fight about it. Were I to be serious, I would say that I'm Irish in appearance, German at work, and Italian everywhere else.
The Italian side of my family were essentially immigrants. My grandmother came over from Italy on "the boat", went through Ellis Island, the whole "nine yards". Through the familial lore I remember a strong sense of community -- a feeling that you survive through pooled resources and infinite forgiveness. How many people lived in my grandmother's house at one point? I always lose count. It was a surprisingly fluctuating number.
My mother bridged the culture gap and I was born thoroughly Americanized -- completely melted into the proverbial pot. Who were these heavy ethnic people I see in faded color photographs? Ginevera? Settimo? Nine kids? Yeah, whatever. Pass the Nintendo, please. Such "simple folk" could not compete with a young me focused as I was on maximizing myself and my life. It amazes me how much of my life (and all of our lives) we spend pushing buttons and see light flashes and hear sounds just for the sake of seeing light flashes and hearing sounds. That is, however, a much different entry.
This past Sunday I went to my uncle Vic's 85th birthday party. It was full of the "eye-talian" side of the family. I think I mentioned previously that my ears were still ringing from the event. It was a mob scene (no pun intended). In one room, eight desserts. In another room screams at the football game on the tv. Next door politics. In the main room a record was on and my 85 year old uncle was dancing in front of some video cameras. When was so-and-so getting married? What 8 year old had a crush on who? Amid the cacophony I found myself staring at my aunts and uncles -- so few still with us -- and being overcome by an overwhelming sense of belonging.
This sense of belonging did not arise from the house. In truth, it was not completely driven by the people either. My home was in the attitudes, the arguments, the community. There was a warmth in that house that day as comforting as any I'd ever experienced. It was the kind of nourishing warmth that makes you remember who you really are or, perhaps, who you want to become.
Too often I wanted to become important, or rich, or both. Now, don't get me wrong -- I think prosperity is a good thing. I would never deny anyone their prosperity. Yet, lately, I have been thinking of the trade-offs of the modern-day middle class. I know too many people who spend too much time working and, when the money for that work comes in, it goes right back out again in trinkets and distraction. Ginevera and Settimo? They could have raised 37 kids with the kind of money we pull in and, yet, many of us get concerned over 1.
My mother laughs it off and reminds me of how her mother talked about it: "When I was your age, we didn't have a pot to piss in and we made it. You'll be fine -- you'll find a way."
And so I remember that picture of my great grandparents and I think how lucky they must have been. Now, don't get me wrong, they don't look lucky in that picture -- if it were a painting it would be labeled "Italian Gothic." But I think they were lucky nonetheless.
Why?
I've known all kinds of happiness in my short life. Believe me, I haven't grown up with a lot of "wants". I've known professional happiness, relationship happiness, and financial happiness. I have a large network of friends. I'm a reasonably happy guy and, gosh darn it, people like me.
All of that is different, though, than the Happiness of being amidst your family -- of knowing, as they say, "where you come from". I know what Tom Wolfe meant when he wrote "you can never go home again". I'm older now, my home has changed a bit. Last Sunday, though, quite suddenly, I found I had somehow stumbled back home.
Having so stumbled, it makes me wonder -- why do we spend our time and energies seeking out anything else?
Now, please pardon me -- I need to go and sire 10 children.
-Ed
The Italian side of my family were essentially immigrants. My grandmother came over from Italy on "the boat", went through Ellis Island, the whole "nine yards". Through the familial lore I remember a strong sense of community -- a feeling that you survive through pooled resources and infinite forgiveness. How many people lived in my grandmother's house at one point? I always lose count. It was a surprisingly fluctuating number.
My mother bridged the culture gap and I was born thoroughly Americanized -- completely melted into the proverbial pot. Who were these heavy ethnic people I see in faded color photographs? Ginevera? Settimo? Nine kids? Yeah, whatever. Pass the Nintendo, please. Such "simple folk" could not compete with a young me focused as I was on maximizing myself and my life. It amazes me how much of my life (and all of our lives) we spend pushing buttons and see light flashes and hear sounds just for the sake of seeing light flashes and hearing sounds. That is, however, a much different entry.
This past Sunday I went to my uncle Vic's 85th birthday party. It was full of the "eye-talian" side of the family. I think I mentioned previously that my ears were still ringing from the event. It was a mob scene (no pun intended). In one room, eight desserts. In another room screams at the football game on the tv. Next door politics. In the main room a record was on and my 85 year old uncle was dancing in front of some video cameras. When was so-and-so getting married? What 8 year old had a crush on who? Amid the cacophony I found myself staring at my aunts and uncles -- so few still with us -- and being overcome by an overwhelming sense of belonging.
This sense of belonging did not arise from the house. In truth, it was not completely driven by the people either. My home was in the attitudes, the arguments, the community. There was a warmth in that house that day as comforting as any I'd ever experienced. It was the kind of nourishing warmth that makes you remember who you really are or, perhaps, who you want to become.
Too often I wanted to become important, or rich, or both. Now, don't get me wrong -- I think prosperity is a good thing. I would never deny anyone their prosperity. Yet, lately, I have been thinking of the trade-offs of the modern-day middle class. I know too many people who spend too much time working and, when the money for that work comes in, it goes right back out again in trinkets and distraction. Ginevera and Settimo? They could have raised 37 kids with the kind of money we pull in and, yet, many of us get concerned over 1.
My mother laughs it off and reminds me of how her mother talked about it: "When I was your age, we didn't have a pot to piss in and we made it. You'll be fine -- you'll find a way."
And so I remember that picture of my great grandparents and I think how lucky they must have been. Now, don't get me wrong, they don't look lucky in that picture -- if it were a painting it would be labeled "Italian Gothic." But I think they were lucky nonetheless.
Why?
I've known all kinds of happiness in my short life. Believe me, I haven't grown up with a lot of "wants". I've known professional happiness, relationship happiness, and financial happiness. I have a large network of friends. I'm a reasonably happy guy and, gosh darn it, people like me.
All of that is different, though, than the Happiness of being amidst your family -- of knowing, as they say, "where you come from". I know what Tom Wolfe meant when he wrote "you can never go home again". I'm older now, my home has changed a bit. Last Sunday, though, quite suddenly, I found I had somehow stumbled back home.
Having so stumbled, it makes me wonder -- why do we spend our time and energies seeking out anything else?
Now, please pardon me -- I need to go and sire 10 children.
-Ed
posted by Ed at 12:03 AM
2 Comments:
I love how you always intersperse humor into your introspection. :) This really resonated with me. My greatgrandmother birthed over 13 children. They all lived in a row house in the city where she managed a garden, sewed clothes from scrap materials, and my great grandfather mended shoes.
After her kids started getting married, she had the women over once a week to teach them basic skills like sewing, knitting, cooking, etc.
Family was always important. Now, my grandmother is the last of those children alive. We live a considerable distance from my family, so those family gatherings just seem to get more precious each year.
Sometimes I wonder how they did it. They were happy with the people and the memories. They didn't need very much to have a good time. And the fact she fed 13 kids from primarily her back yard, homeade bread, and had them all living in a row home, well, that's pretty darn amazing!
Sometimes I wonder if it's because they grew up in times when you didn't waste anything, everything was savored. Whereas now, we pretty much live in a disposable society.
Don't like a piece of furniture, buy new! You've got a hole in your sock - throw both out and a get new pair!
I really am amazed at how things used to be. Thanks for the trip down memeory lane.
Oh, and have fun sireing those kids.
Hey, I resonate! 8)
I couldn't agree more with your comments. Thank you.
-Ed
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