Excerpt from "The September Fields"
" ....In Italian culture, wine is welcome at most, to all occasions. When my uncle Joe came home from his stint as a marine in World War II, his father immediately brought him to the dirt floored cellar and showed him where to dig to find the special vintage that was awaiting his homecoming. For my husband's grandfather, he used his wine to weed out who would and who would not be part of their inner circle. He would lure many of his son's friends down to the cellar where the wine was stored, with the promise that they would be tasting the best wine they've ever had. He would then present them with a few glasses of his potent brew. And for those of us who have tasted homemade wine, you're aware of the quickly numbing effects.

So pretty much, if you were able to drink all of the wine he presented you with, you passed the first part of the test. And if you were able to make your way back up the stairs on your own accord, you passed test number two, and you were 'in', and accepted by Grandpa Luigi. His wine certainly brought him much joy. Not only did he share it with other people, he many times shared it with the animals that would visit his yard. Specifically, the blackbirds. Now, back in the 40's and 50's, times were still hard for many. But Luigi did his part in getting food for his family. So when money was low, with 9 children to feed, Luigi would soak some Italian bread in his wine and throw it out to the blackbirds. They would come and eat the bread and eventually topple over drunk. He would then go out, collect the birds, and well, let's just say they've made their way into many a stew or in the middle of a board of polenta. But as Luigi would say, "At least they diea happy".

Excerpt from "The Italian Clubs"
" ....More often than not, immigrant men set sail from Italy, arriving at the Eastern ports of America with a dream in mind. These 'birds of passage' as they were called, traveled alone, or with brothers, cousins or friends. All, with the hope to make some money, then finally send for their loved ones to come and join them...with the ultimate goal being to one day return to their beloved Italia.

But once here, they found their homes in the slums of the cities of their new country. They lived in cramped quarters; many together, getting menial pay, but never asking for, nor wanting a hand out. They wanted to make it one their own.....So here, their solace came from the bonds and ties they created with their fellow countrymen...."

Excerpt from "Growing Up in my Own Little Italy"
" Growing up an Italian kid in an Italian world, was definitely an experience. For those of us who grew up Italian American, it was almost as if we were part of a secret society of sorts, that outsiders just didn't or couldn't understand. But we, we understood just fine. We understood the unique hand gestures of our fellow paisani; for us, we were never offended, nor did we consider it rude for 5 people to be talking at one time at the dinner table. The loud pounding voices of fellow Italians, many times left a ringing in the ear, but what did we care...they knew what we all knew; the louder you are, the chances are better that you will be heard.

We knew to stand back when Aunt Angie was excited about something, because we might get nailed (by accident, of course), by a flailing hand...we just can't help but talk with our hands moving. We also had tons of aunts and uncles. But for us, most of them weren't really related...we had many 'family members' who weren't really family. The loyalty among friends and family in this culture is like few others. For us, it was a privledge to be a member of this association and brotherhood. Our lives truly revolved around our family, friends, food, tradition and the neighborhood...."

Excerpt from "La Pasqua" (Easter Sunday)
" ....Now aside from no meat on Fridays, during this time of abstinence, we were also expected to "give something up" to show Christ our appreciation for his giving his life for us. As a Catholic school student at St. Bernadette's grammar school, we were told as youngsters that we did not have to give up one particular thing for 6 weeks, but that we could pick out of the classroom jar and see what would be given up on that day. I vividly recall that the Lenten season during my 4th grade year with Sr. Janine was an especially rough one. I even thought maybe she wrote the same exact thing on all the slips of paper just to punish us, especially me for talking so much. I can still remember standing in line to pick out of the jar; straining to see the little notes of penance on the small sheets of paper. However, it was no use, because for 2 weeks straight I chose the slip that stated "You must not watch your favorite TV show today". After the first week of missing 'Little House on the Praire' every day, I began to try to convince myself that 'Brady Bunch' was actually my favorite show, so I could watch 'Little House' with no regrets....however, after one day of watching, something crept up on me that I'm sure all religious Italians have experienced at one point or another.....that Catholic guilt; so nevertheless, I did follow those sheets of penance no matter how difficult it felt as a nine year old.

During this time we would also pay many more visits to Father Georgia for confession. Usually when it was time to confess your sins, you would go to a confessional inside the church. But for times sake, Father Georgia would come into the school and sit in the 'music room'. So we would go across the hall one by one. Week after week I would walk across the hall and tell Father Georgia the same confession. "My mom told me I could have 2 cookies and I took 3"...you think I weighed 300 pounds with all the cookies I ate, but I couldn't bring myself to tell Father Georgia face to face the really bad stuff (well not that bad); but I think he caught on after about 3 weeks, when he asked me if I had commited any other sins that I wanted to share. Nope. I can also remember the increase in choir practice among the students at the school (all 175 of us in grades 1-8). We would line up and file into the church attached to the school to practice hymns; none of us ever really seemed to hit the notes of "Ave Maria" though. However, we were all definitely prepared for Good Friday and Easter Sunday masses. And with the loom of 'mortal sin' hanging over our heads, we definitely attended...."