GROWING UP INTO A KID

Today is March 19th, Saint Joseph’s Day, celebrated in the biggest kitchen in the World, Italy and by far the best! When I was a wee one back in Brooklyn, St Joseph’s Day was a big deal in the Italian/American neighborhood, and if you were named Joseph, better yet, you were a prince. People, mostly adult Italians would see you and say: “Giuseppe!” and give you the two-finger squeeze of the cheek and laugh. Some would give you a dime, and even a dollar if they were really happy.
 
Having THE name meant that crème puffs were coming your way, too. You got the first and fattest crème puff there is and just ask for a little more sugar and you got it. Zeppoli and sfinge were worth all the cheek pecks there was that day.

 If I saw my grandmother that day, she would clasp her hands in a prayer-like shake and repeat my name in Italian, then, grasp my cheeks with two hands and squeeze while lifting both feet off the ground of course! One would think they closed down Brooklyn for the day so people could eat the bakery goods and enjoy the Feast. I came to realize that ‘Festa’ meant to eat because every feast day you eat well… better than usual!

This, of course, it was not a day of rejoicing for my sibs, since they had pedantic feelings about the whole scene and me in particular. But it was no matter, after all, the dessert came with a nice meal that mom would prepare, whatever I wanted that day, which usually ended up being Rigatoni, my favorite macaroni with meatballs. Life was good.

Then one day I did something stupid, I grew up, and when I did, there were no more crème puffs, unless I went to the bakery. Granted Grandma didn't hang around anymore! Married to an Irish wife, there is little if no recognition for the big day.

But as Dad (Tony) used to say: “St. Joseph’s Day, ha! Every day is St. Anthony’s Day” Managgia!