Written in February, thought I'd visit dVerse Poetics:
Your family hiSTORY and share this little piece of myself:
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| Universal Studios Lot, Instagram by sessepien |
He was born before the turn of the 20th century in a small town
near the coast of Sicily. Little is known to us of his early childhood.
As a young man, he sailed on Italian merchant ships, where he
learned to weave and repair nets. In the early 1900s he immigrated,
coming through Ellis Island into New York City then on to
Chicago–where he saw his share of crowded tenements and
common bathrooms–before finding his way to and making
his home in a small mill town in southeastern Vermont.
I don’t know exactly when or where he met his
wife Anna; only that she was from Milan in northern
Italy. Mixing
northern Italians with Sicilians is like
mixing oil and water–opposites–yet their union worked.
They raised seven children, two sons: John and Joseph, and
five daughters: Clementina, Marguerita, Mary, Rose and
Virginia
When I was born in 1956, he was in his late sixties.
By the time he was in his 80’s, he’d lost both legs to
diabetes .
He passed just four months shy of his 93rd birthday.
I still remember him sitting in the wheel chair in his kitchen,
hands busy weaving yarn into beautiful net scarves just as
he’d
learned to weave those fishing nets so many years before.
He never truly mastered English, except for cursing,
which for some reason was always perfectly understandable.
He had nine natural grandchildren and one step-grandson.
He’d keep Hershey bars in his top drawer for when we
would visit, and in the summer would give us quarters
for ice cream.
I've often wondered of the courage and determination
to come to a new country, leaving family and everything
you knew behind, and despite limited skills and language
barrier– marry,
raise a family, and survive such adversity.
Stubborn, tough, humble and proud—that was my grandfather.
© Ginny Brannan 2014
Grandchild number seven, only child of his oldest, Tina,
I carry the names of my youngest aunt and my grandmother. My Grandpa
Joe, Aunt Ginny and I had the unique privilege of sharing the same birthday, and
for many years we would all gather at grandpa’s house to celebrate. Some time
later when I got married, I would discover that my dear father-in-law also
shared this special day.
Grandpa passed in 1980, the year before I married.
Aunt Gin in 1991, the year we bought our house,
My father-in-law passed early the next year.
Not a February 24th passes that I don’t remember and raise a glass to all of them.
Grandpa "Giuseppe" and me
February 24th, 1975
An immigrant's story, written and shared on 2/18/14 at
Magpie Tales #207
