Big, Uncomplicated and Loud: My Italian American Family

By: Tony Traficante, ISDA Contributing Editor

While FDR had his fireside chats, I experienced porch side chats where I learned much about my heritage.

It is well known that weekly Sunday suppers were a special time for large Italian families. It was a day of rest, except of course for Italian mothers — but they loved it, as they had an opportunity to enjoy the company of relatives and visiting friends.

Life was simple and uncomplicated. There was a weekly routine that was only interrupted by a wedding, religious service, celebration, or social activity at the local ISDA lodge. Routine, habit, and custom created stability for Italian immigrants. It was a form of security and basic to their survival.

Homemade pasta, a traditional custom, was the norm for Sunday supper, at least back then. The day promised good food and time to catch up with family affairs and neighborhood happenings. No one was permitted to leave the table until dinner was over for all. And even if they had such gadgets, you wouldn’t dare have a cell phone, with texting features, at the table!

Sundays ended with the adults sitting on the front porch enjoying conversations with a “digestive,” or a cup of coffee (not necessarily in that order).

We kids were out in the alley playing a variety of street games until it got dark, then we went to roost on the porch steps. It was here I learned much about the world of our parents and friends. Listening to them reminisce about their way of life in Italy, and the circumstances of their existence as new immigrants in the United States, was both fascinating and distressing.

Most of our neighbors and friends came from some of the poorest regions of Italy. What my parents called “La meridionale,” others called “Il mezzogiorno.” Many were farmers, laboring in the fields for hours under a hot sun. Naturally, they became dark complexioned, “un po’ più abbronzati.” And for this, they suffered intolerance and bias from the American community. They were ridiculed, too, for their dress, the way they talked, their customs and even the things they ate.

Some complained that their treatment as immigrants in America was not much better than what they left behind.“Cambiano i suonatori ma la musica è sempre quella.” The players may have changed, but the music is always the same.

The American labor force accused the Italians of taking their jobs “Ma che,” the Italians replied! “Facciamo il lavoro che nessuno voleva fare!” They did the work no one else wanted to do! They did it to survive and feed their families.

“Era una vita dura.” There is no question that it was a difficult time for many immigrants. Those who hung in there said, “Siamo genti forti. Non abbiamo fatto tutta questa strada solo per abbondonarlo!” We are strong people, they said! We did not come all this way only to give up.

For my parents, education was a constant topic of preaching. You must learn the American ways and customs. America is our home now, and your birthright, they said. “Certo,” certainly, it is OK to speak our language at home.

They wanted us to fit in but not forget our heritage. Be proud Americans, they said. But never be ashamed of your heritage. It, too, is a story you must know and preserve.

“E’ vero che anche noi siamo cittadini americani,” and we are proud and thankful for that!

“E pure, il nostro sangue sarà sempre quella di Italia.”