28 Days of Gratitude: Day 6

Nov. 6th- I am thankful for parents.

My mom was 21 when I was born. My dad was 20. They were barely out of high school. My dad was in the Army Reserves, and gone most weekends. My mom, who emigrated to the U.S. from Italy when she was 14, dreamed of becoming a flight attendant (or “airline stewardess” in those days). With a brand new baby, struggling to make ends meet, we lived with my grandparents during the first few years after I was born.

My sister was born a few years later, and by then we had moved into our own house.  A small ranch with a big backyard, my parents made it their own. My mother planted a huge garden, and my father used rulers to mark off where to plant the tomatoes. They grew peppers, squash, eggplant, lettuce and cucumbers. And endless amounts of basil.

A few more years went by, and our baby sister was born. My dad worked two jobs: for the State helping to track down fathers’ who were delinquent in their child support payments, and a few nights a week in the meat department of a grocery store. My mom began watching neighborhood children to help make ends meet. I don’t remember seeing them both together much except in the mornings and on the weekends. My parents worked harder than anyone I know, and made sure we knew the value of every dollar that came in.

My mother’s influence over me and my sisters was enormous. As first generation Italian-Americans, my sisters and I grew up slightly different than most of our friends. Canning tomatoes, homemade wine and Scopa, an Italian card game, are typical memories of my childhood. I remember begging my mother to just make me a plain peanut butter and jelly sandwich for school and not chicken cutlets. We learned how to make sauce by the age of five, how to properly clean a refrigerator inside and out, and what it meant if we talked back.

We never went without. My parents sacrificed so my sisters and I could take tap or gymnastics or jazz. They went without so we could have tap shoes and recital costumes. My mom made many of our clothes when we were young, and for many years we had only one car, which my dad would take to work. But that never stopped us from going to the library, the post office or the grocery store. We simply walked. It was three miles round trip, but my mom always made it an adventure.

By the time I was in junior high, my mom had turned her neighborhood babysitting job into a successful home daycare business. She became one of the top licensed daycare providers in the area, receiving many calls from parents wanting her to watch their children, or pregnant moms asking to be put on a waiting list. My dad at this point was down to one job, and taking night classes to earn his BA, then eventually his MSW. We would often study side-by-side.

My dad used to dream of having his own business one day. Not just any old business, he would come up with creative ideas and run them by us. Once he decided he wanted to start a catering business. My sisters and I were taste testers for days. But the reality was, he couldn’t leave his salaried job with benefits to explore uncharted territory.

My mom was the kind of mom who had warm cookies waiting for us after school, except they weren’t exactly cookies, but more like Nutella sandwiches. She made us pastina when we didn’t feel well, and fed all of my friends when they came over. We often had more than one extra child sitting at our dinner table. Strict, practical and loving, my mom held us to very high standards. Grades were extremely important. Studying and hard work pays off and since “you were born in this country,” she used to say to us, “you have no excuses for not succeeding. For not giving it your all. Absolutely no excuses.”

As strict as my mother was, my dad was the complete opposite. He would much rather be our friend then spend time disciplining us. The favorite adult amongst our friends, my dad knew how to talk to everyone. He was the most coveted CCD teacher during my confirmation year.

My mother taught us that hard work and sacrifice is necessary to make it in this world. My father taught us that if you don’t take time to stop and smell the roses, they may not be there in the morning. (Although he doesn’t really heed his own advice.) My mother taught us to be strong, independent women, and my father taught us it’s not about winning, but how you play the game.

They nag and definitely get on each other’s nerves, but they are best friends (even if my mom won’t admit it) and always have each other’s back. My dad continues to need our advice on what to buy mom for Christmas. When left on his own, he seems to only buy flannel pajamas for her. Every time.

Somehow their partnership works. They have managed to raise three daughters with a strong sense of who we are and how we can help others, put us all through private colleges and built their big dream house. We spend many weekends there, cooking, laughing and tasting my dad’s wine.

My mom is the most amazing and hardworking person I have ever known. She absolutely loves being a Nonna and will drop everything to be with her daughters or six grandchildren. I am so proud of all she has accomplished, including becoming a top real estate agent. She wants us all to live with her. She says what she thinks and insists on helping even if you say you don’t need it. She cannot come over without some kind of cheese, homemade sauce, and presents for my girls. When I cry, she cries with me. I could not have gotten through my daughter’s surgeries without her.

My dad is an incredible father and Papa. He is hardworking and never stops to take a break. He truly loves being around his family and the simple things in life. He is usually the first person I call when I need help figuring something out. Having no sons of his own, he is thrilled to now have three son-in-laws to play fantasy football with and hit the Blackjack tables at Mohegan Sun. He is teaching them how to make sausage and wine the way his father-in-law taught him, and loves traveling to Italy with my mom. I know he would move there in a heartbeat if it weren’t for us. A natural writer, he is fond of prose and anything rhyming. He writes a comical and endearing four page Christmas letter bragging about his children and grandchildren. His face lights up when one of his grandchildren runs into his arms.

I so very grateful for my parents and all they have sacrificed for me and my sisters. We wouldn’t be the people we are today without them. We couldn’t be.

Thank you mom and dad...