This is a picture of my fathers parents. They came to the United States from Italy to escape poverty. My grandfather was a laborer. My grandmother took in boarders to help make ends meet. They had little education and didnt speak much English. My grandfather learned carpentry and how to build houses without any plans. He worked hard, but many U.S. citizens at the time did not exactly welcome him or or his fellow countrymen with open arms. Often, such immigrants were accused of being criminals or carrying diseases. This couples youngest son, my father, wasnt exactly proud that he was a child of immigrants. That son, my dad, was drafted into the U.S. Army and served during WWII. A nephew, my cousin, and a grandson of this couple, served as an officer in the U.S. Navy in Vietnam. Another grandson, that would be me, spent five years in the U.S. Army. The photo on the right is me at Ellis Island, overlooking the Great Hall, where my grandparents were processed on more than one occasion. They were detained there once because one of my uncles, a toddler at the time, had contracted typhoid fever. Being an immigrant was no easy feat. Of course, the Italians were often thought not to possess the proper documentation to enter the U.S., that is, they were without papers, its acronym WOP becoming a slur. My grandparents eventually became U.S. citizens. But it took many years. I often think about my grandparents whenever I encounter immigrant families in my own community. I begrudge them nothing because I understand why they go to great lengths to get to and stay in this country. And Im deeply proud of and grateful to my nonno and nonna.
Posted on: Sun, 03 Aug 2014 22:17:19 +0000
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