Roots

I'm not 100% in love w/this but its all I got tonight




Sunday’s were always for family. We all gathered at my grand parent’s house for dinner and to catch up on each other’s lives. And by catch up, I mean being nosey and doling out unwanted advice. When I was little all the grandchildren would sit around and listen to Nanny and Poppy tell stories of their childhoods. We would hear how Nanny and her sisters loved to go to their Nonna’s house and spend the day baking, or learning how to sew and gardening. Poppy would tell us of the pranks him and his brothers would pull on their friends. Even though we were young, we were smart enough to know that what they were telling us not just stories but lessons.

When my cousins and I became teenagers, we heard the story of how our grandparents met and fell in love. Poppy told of how Nanny was the most beautiful girl in the neighborhood and all the boys wanted to take her to dances and for sodas. Nanny said he was a show off and she had no choice but to pay him attention. They would look at each other, reliving those days and the love between them was obvious.

As we became young adults, we learned of responsibilities. Not just the regular kind of adult responsibilities but of the family kind too. Family was always stressed as the most important thing in our lives. By that time we could all recite the stories we had heard growing up. We knew our family history that dated back two generations and that started in Italy and Ireland respectively. We knew by looking at our faces which of us had Nanny’s eyes and Poppy’s nose. I had great-grandma’s chin and my brother had her ears.

On what was to be our Nanny’s last Christmas the grandchildren presented her with the story of our family. Everyone scoured for pictures, and we divided writing the stories that had shaped our family and our lives. She got sick shortly after and died with her family surrounding her. Poppy followed soon after, not being able to live without his love.

As it so often happens in life our Sunday dinners began to thin out. People were busy with their own lives and couldn’t find the time to spare. Eventually we became a holiday family. When my oldest cousin had her first baby, that all changed. My mother had decided to reinstate Sunday family dinners. Each week we would go to someone else’s house and began to tell new stories- our stories. As the new generation was being brought into the family they were told the stories we had learned growing up along with the new stories of how our family has evolved.

Today, as I look around the dinner table at my family, I am thankful for the time I had with my grandparent’s and all that they have taught me. I am grateful to be a member of this large, crazy clan. I am proud that I know where my ancestors came from and that I can pass this along to my children and eventually my grandchildren. My family is my rock, my haven, my security. In honor of our grandparents when anyone gets married they are presented with the story of our family, just as we gave Nanny that one Christmas.