My husband is a first-born Australian; his family is Italian. His mama is from a little village outside of Benevento (near Naples) called Ferrarisi and his father is from a Sicilian island called Lipari. Theirs is a rich, joyous history full of the Italian passion for Catholicism, la dolce vita and concrete.
When I first met LOML, he was 27 and a good Italian boy living at home with his family. At 24, I had been living out of home for over six years and thought that still being at home was... quaint. This was before Gen Y made it fashionable, of course. For the Italians, it never went out of style. "Why you need to rent something? You buy a place and you rent it out to somebody else!" That's my FIL talking there.
I met his family a couple of months after we started seeing each other - by then we were head-over-heels in love. Was every member of the extended family actually present that day? Row after row of sun-kissed Italian faces wrapped in head scarves. Neat and small with tiny sensible shoes. I towered over the room like some giant Celtic monument.
It was quickly established that my family was originally Irish. It wasn't something that I had ever given much thought to, but these things carried great weight with the Italians and it seemed very important that we focus on my Irishness. Probably the Catholic thing.
After much discussion and general checking-out, LOML's ancient Nonno (really only 78, but the booming Italian Godfatherish voice made him seem much older) decided that I was okay. "She might not be Italian," he declared. "But she has Italian hands." It was agreed by all present that this was enough. Irish with Italian hands was enough.
Since that very first day, I have always been delighted by the sheer Italianness of LOML's famiglia. They drive me absolutely bonkers on occasion, but generally we get along beautifully. There is a rhythm and pace to the way they live that is still foreign and wonderful to me after almost fifteen years. We get together, we shout at each other (why speak when you can shout?); I barely understand half of what is said (even when speaking fluent English, their accents are so thick!) but I gesture with those Italian hands as much as I possibly can and it is still, thank god, enough.
What's your heritage or your adopted family's?
Does it mean a lot to you?
[Image found here. Translation: The important thing is not to be rich with money, necklaces, gold or jewellery. The important thing is to be rich with dreams, friends and love.]
