I’m proud to be Italian-American. Since I was a little girl, my family has taught me to appreciate where I come from and to always carry it with me. This October was Italian-American month and I’ve spent my time thinking about what it means to be a part of the Italian-American Community.
When Italians first began immigrating to America, it was to escape the poverty of Italy. Wanting that American Dream (which many come to America to seek), the Italians were met with serious discrimination. They were denied work, unfairly stereotyped and publically lynched.
Forced to take whatever jobs they could find, the best that many Italians could do was manual labor. My own great-great-grandmother found a job washing floors and stairs; She was thankful every day for having it.
I am extremely lucky to have the opportunities that I do and I try every day to make the most of them because they’re opportunities my own grandparents didn’t have.
My Nani and Nanu we’re incredibly intelligent. My Nani read more books than anyone I had ever met and my Nanu would frequently outsmart the miniature slot machine, which he kept in his basement. However, neither of them finished even middle school. Both were pulled out of school when they were 11 or 12 years old and put to work in the mills in Lawrence to help their families make ends meet.
The family couldn’t afford to have individual houses so the entire Messina and Scrofano families, which included at least 20 aunts, uncles, and cousins, all lived in a small apartment in Lawrence, Massachusetts. It was in this apartment that my father, along with his brother and sister, grew up in and the place where my Nani and Nanu lived until they passed away.
My family is just one of the millions who still have a strong appreciation for their nationality and deal with the challenges their ancestors needed to overcome in order to make it in America. My family made sacrifices for each other and for themselves. I am eternally grateful and do my best to make them proud.
Italy has a huge part of my heart and I was lucky enough to study there for a month a few summers ago. When I was there, I was able to connect with my heritage even more. The stunning landscapes were triumphed only by the food, which was triumphed by the people. To be in the country that my ancestors had come from made me feel connected to them and to my past. The people were remarkably kind and thoughtful, offering their assistance in any way they could or inviting me to eat dinner with them. With the remarkable history and the breathtaking art, I can’t wait to return again.