I am second generation Italian. My parents, born in America, were both children of immigrants, and for me, separating those two worlds was not an easy task. On one side, the wonderful, if somewhat confining, traditions of being Italian and all that it represented. On the other, the often confusing messages of heritage, customs and culture of being Italian mixed in with being "American" simultaneously.
I never questioned my Italian heritage, nor did I ever wish to be anything else. Growing up in an extended family of numerous aunts, uncles and cousins was something I cherished and loved. However, the fan took a major hit when I came of age and realized that, among other things, there were two distinctly different roles for Italian-American boys and girls.
My father never let me forget that I was a huge disappointment when I was born. For an Italian man, sons are the golden attainment, daughters a distant second. Combined with the fact that he did not have a high opinion of women in general created an untenable and difficult situation for me.
I remember as a young girl helping "the women" clear off the Christmas table so "the men" could play cards while they enjoyed their roasted chestnuts, black coffee (espresso) and cake. They'd just sit back and wait, with no thought at all given to the lop-sided unfairness of the situation. At the tender age of ten, I questioned my father about it, to which he replied "I know it's unfair, kid, but that's just the way it is" and I snapped back, "Well, it won't be that way in my house when I grow up!"
Little did I know that I would carry that rebellious attitude into my adult life, scandalizing the family and creating a world of turbulence for myself. As proud as I was of my Italian ancestry, I refused to allow such a discriminatory perspective to continue in my own existence.
And so, I was terribly torn between two worlds, a living dichotomy if you will...loving the fact that I was Italian-American, but constantly grappling with the other fact that I would not ~ could not ~ accept any role but the one I chose for myself, as difficult and ill-advised as it may have been.
But, looking back, if I had my druthers, I think I would rather have been one of "the women" clearing off the Christmas table with no question as to roles. Thus, the confusion and bewilderment of being torn between two worlds, and struggling with regrets later in life.
"Regrets, I've had a few, but then again, too few to mention..."
Not so. I have a lot more than "a few" regrets. But I never, ever regretted being born Italian-American. I just wish I could have known then what I know now, that's all. It would have made a world of difference...
