 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
One way we can all preserve our culture is to share with each other and the world stories which
reflect what it means to be Italian-American to us. This page is dedicated to that purpose.
Please submit stories about members of your family who represent what it means to be Italian-
American. Honor them here and help us share with each other and the world what being an
Italian-American is all about. E-mail your story to webmaster@fieribronxwestchester.org.org
Submitted By: Vincent Volino
Date: 12/15/03
My grandfather, Vincent Musco, was a small man in stature but he was a giant to us. He worked for
thirty years in the meat packing industry in the Bronx. He started out by buying a local meat delivery
route. Every morning, he'd wake up at 4:30 a.m., and travel down to the Hunts Point market to load
the meat into his truck. He spent the entire day delivering it to area restaurants and butcher shops.
From handling the cold meats for so many years, he eventually lost sensation in his hands and was
proud of this as it showed how hard he labored. Finally, by age 42, he was able to open his own
store, "Jimmy's Quality Market," in Yonkers. He worked incredibly hard to send my mother and my
aunt to the best schools. Nothing was too good for his princesses. He was so proud to be able to
afford to send my mom to the St. Elizabeth Ann Seton School in Northwest Yonkers. It broke his heart
to see the other girls laugh at my mom, the only Italian girl at the school, as she climbed out of her
father's big red-paneled delivery truck every morning. All of the other girls arrived in Lincolns and
Cadillacs. He told my mom to tell the other girls that the Cadillac was at home and then he worked
feverishly so that by the next fall he could drive my mother to school in a shiny new Cadillac. He
bought this just for her. This is just one example of the many times that he put his family above
himself. What amazes me the most when I reflect on his life is that he never thought that he was
doing anything special. All of the elaborate things that he did for his family just came naturally to him.
He was a quiet man but his actions spoke volumes. He's gone now but I think about him all the time.
He'll always be in my heart.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Submitted By: Lisa Biviano
Date: April 22, 2004
For me, there are several traditions in my life that have helped define who I am today. From summer
afternoons spent gardening at my Nonno’s house, to family dinners that are always more than just
meals, the dinner table is where conversation is the main course and generations find emotional
sustenance with laughter and amore. Within my family, these gatherings are the center of our life. It
is the time when culture is passed down from one generation to the next like the seemingly infinite
courses served.
Every Sunday, when I was young, we would gather at my Zia Jenny’s house where our role as children
was to listen as our eldest relatives would tell us stories from the old days. Dinnertime became a
tribute to our culture. We explored the universal connections that we all share. The bonds that
bridged the distance from Italy formed a path to success in America and continue to pave the way for
future generations.
As the years passed and my cousins and I began our college education, the much anticipated Sunday
dinners started to wane, but through the dilution of our weekly tradition grew a warm remembrance
and strength of our family ties. It all started to come together. The stories we heard when we were
children began to make sense and take shape in our hearts. The hardships that our ancestors
overcame helped me personally want to strive and achieve a better lifestyle. I finally understood what
it was all for.
In 1947, my Nonno left Sicily in order to start a better life. Although he had to leave his wife and
children behind, he sadly moved to Australia where he became a laborer, working day and night until
he saved enough money to send for his family. His wife and sons moved to Melbourne five years
later, and within the next ten years were fortunate enough to come to America. My grandfather
always reminded his sons that their strong sense of family and belief in their culture would help get
them through the rough times. Residing in Wood-Ridge, New Jersey, my father, having not finished
high school, decided to go to a trade school for Electronics. In 1980, he started his own Television
Servicing Company, which was what he had always wanted to do. To date, my father works thirteen
hours a day and has given up much for himself in order to secure a comfortable lifestyle for my
brother and me.
As I think back to the sacrifices that my family has made and continue to make, I realize that it all was
done to afford the next generation (myself) choices and opportunities. Their misfortunes, as well as
triumphs, served as a stepping-stone to a new beginning. I have learned that my family members
have sought beauty in their lives, which can only be achieved through hard work and dedication.
When I was accepted to Fordham University four years ago, my parents, as well as myself, were
ecstatic. I see now what my father and mother have given up for themselves in order to afford me the
“American Dream” and understand what the dinnertime stories years ago were all about.
Would you like to be notified of upcoming
events via e-mail?
