THE ITALIAN WEDDING

One of the features of life in the Italian family back in the early ’50s was the wedding. If you had a daughter, it was very important that she got married, otherwise, she would be considered an ‘Old Maid’ and Momma couldn’t have that. For Poppa no one was good enough for his daughter or have too much money to support her.

Like any engagement, the announcement was presented under a cordial and some cookies, “Salute” was the word and ‘Wheeew’ was the whispered word Poppa used when it was finally announced that he got her off his hands.

Daughters had the extra or added burden of Mamma, who would assume command of everything and everyone, there was the cleaning of the house, the cooking, the hall, the cooking, the church, the cooking, and the wedding dress, and don’t forget the cooking. A son only had to have a tuxedo and clean underwear.

In the old days, fear of grandparents from the ‘other side’ was the norm, and whom you were marrying was important to the grandparents, thus important to you as the parent of the bride. First the criteria: Had to Italian, from the same hometown, e.g. Neapolitan or Sicilian, Catholic, and the opposite sex helped too. The very idea of a mixed marriage was a Sicilian marrying a Neapolitan.

As my oldest cousin poised to get married she was breaking most of the rules. Everyone was worried Grandma would find out. She was marrying a gentleman of German extraction, was a Lutheran and God only knows what else he was. Someone would have to approach Grandma and lay it on the line. Fear was high that she would be unhappy, angry, mad and not pleased. The job went to the stranger who had nothing to lose but his bride. He told Grandma he was a German Lutheran! He actually told her that!

Well, when the smoke cleared and the dust settled there was my grandmother making her announcement. She announced in her own words, part Italian and part Broken English that she was pleased!

Grandma!

“He’s a nizer boy!”

Was she hitting the sauce? No, she thought that that might happen but then again, that was one of the reasons she came to this country to escape the poverty and narrow mindedness of prewar Italy in the early 1900s.

And so the happy couple would march down the aisle into wedded bliss as soon as my aunt was done giving her wedding orders, fussing with the bride’s dress and giving Hell to anyone unfortunately in the way. It was called a football wedding with a live band and I will never forget it! Grandma was ahead of her time, and wiser than her children, and my uncles couldn’t smoke their di Napoli cigars.

For the next two years after that day of unity, my aunt’s house was the depository of wedding gifts stashed away in closets, basement, and under tables scattered throughout the house. In even subsequent years the supply of baby shower gifts led heavily to my uncle's determination to move and not tell anyone where.