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They showed up in two’s and three’s, the doorbell ringing
constantly as friends and relatives arrived, paid their respects to Zia
Francesca, with a: “Appy East” and spoke their native tongue. They were able to
speak three languages, Broken English, Italian and what I call ‘Mano-Italiano,’
making multi-syllabic statements in two to ten fingers, depending on how poetic
they were. These statements were often a collection of Broken English and
Italian words to accompany the conversation. Facial expression was key to
understanding a conversation. Someone made a point without expression meant
that they were not happy.
I’m talking about Easter Sunday growing up in Brooklyn, and
the festive atmosphere that pervaded the family. During those golden days of
living in Brooklyn during the 50’s, attitudes were different, the mores of
yesterday conflicting with today’s. In those days you didn’t just roll out of
bed and off you went. Today you see people in stores early in the morning in their
pj’s! No, for the holiday or any Sunday, you dressed for church and dinner,
then as the day wore on, you relaxed. No one ever got on a plane without
dressing, or had a business appointment without shined shoes, neatly combed
hair and a freshly starched shirt with tie and jacket.
Of course we also had other hang-ups that made up our
collective psyches but at least there was some sense of order and respect.
Easter was THE holiday for the Italian-Americans. In spite
of what we did on Christmas Eve, this was THE day: it signified many things.
You were getting a meal at grandma’s, a big old-fashioned meal, grandpa would
be nagged to death to stop playing cards at the Republican Club and come home
to eat, I got a chance to see these Napoli cigars, all knarly and stinky,
popped in Zio Felice’s kisser, and pinochle games or poker, depending on what
was the prevailing mood. Grandma on the other hand got to preside over her huge
family, which today would be unbelievable to her, as she would see what her
sacrifice to come to this country paid off in!
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| Easter pies like Ricotta Cheese pie |
Hope did spring eternal, from the Eternal City to the new
world, spring was in the air and this made Easter Sunday joyous and special. It
seemed to be always a bright, sunny and warm day, warm enough to go about in a
spring jacket, not an overcoat. But that might just be my memory and not fact.
But the best part of Easter was seeing all my cousins from
Patchogue come out to Brooklyn, and plans were made for my older sister Tessie
(much older) and me to go out to Patchogue for a few weeks in the summer to
free us from the grime of the city streets.
It seems that living in the city or borough of Brooklyn was
special. It meant tradition was followed because most of our grandparents “came
over from the other side” as they said. Coming over from the other side was
crossing the pond in today’s lingo, and be it Italian, Irish, German or Slavic,
it meant that the traditions of your grandparents were held sacred and followed
as a religion.
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| I don't know, maybe a vacation will help. |
I am grateful to have lived through all that tradition. It
was special and it was wonderful, it connected me to my roots and made me also
appreciate what a great place I now live in. No matter what the traditions, we
all experienced: I think we can be happy with that part of our lives, and come
together in a common cause to create new traditions for our children to build
upon.
“A appy East” to all!
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