Yolie: Team isn't Everything

Being from the south…and I need to be careful how I say this…but there appeared to me to be a general feeling those from the north considered us prejudiced solely based on our place of birth.

Did they actually believe this of us?  I’m unsure…some yes…some no, yet it seemed to be knowledge not so much spoken as impressed upon us at birth or by some weird social osmosis.

Therefore, when I would hear Craig’s grandparents speaking of their fellow card players and neighbors in terms of ethnicity, it gave me the impression there was more prejudice going on in the north than the south.

After all, I grew up a city girl.  My neighborhood was pretty well and happily integrated.

I was proud of this fact.

Later on…I decided I may have been mistaken about the grandparent’s habit of adding titles to their card buddies' names.  For example, there was ‘Alice, The German Lady’ or ‘Eleanor, The Jewish Lady,’ etc.

In retrospect…I think for them it was a manner of identification.  It was almost like stating the team a person roots for at the World Cup.

I’m almost positive either would have been happy to be identified as ‘The Italian Lady.’

Of course…their own team was the best team…everything Italian was best…but it didn’t keep them from treating me (and others) with kindness and hospitality…and, for that, I’ll always be grateful.

They never seemed sorry their grandson (full-blooded, Italian American) introduced them to a potential family member…not from New Jersey, not Catholic and without a real ethnic identity.

And it may have been as early as the first visit I felt compelled to share with them…the non-facts of my ancestry.

“I’m Scottish, Irish, Native American, French…and who knows what else.  My family has been here forever…,” I shared with a shrug.

They looked at each other and then smiled back at me.

I think they had already given up on Craig’s family returning to the Catholic Church; my Protestantism was definitely out of their comfort zone, but they didn’t let it affect how they treated me.

Conversely, the whole Catholic, Italian, northern thing was pretty much a novelty to me.

I’ll admit…I was curious.

It was different.

There were times I was sitting there observing and soaking it all in like a giant sponge.

It was a wonderful novelty…like all the food rules, or I guess you could almost call them traditions.

By the way, the reason the salad was sitting at the edge of the table untouched during the big meal I described in my last post…was because they preferred to eat it after the main portion of the meal.  They believed it helped with digestion.

And let’s face it, after a meal that large…any help in that direction was probably a good idea.

Earlier that day (forever known as The Day of the Big Meal), Grandpa Fred was cutting up some Italian sausage to put on crackers.

So Fred and Phil, the other grandfather, were hunched over the plate in the small den off the kitchen when Craig and I walked in.

We wondered what they were getting up to.

Fred decided to share, so he invited us over to partake of the ‘hot’ sausage with an obviously contained smile on his face.

I’m wondering now if the grandfathers had ever had to share this particular treat.  I’m guessing the grandmother’s shied away from the potential of an incredibly fiery tongue.

Well, I was from Texas and loved spicy foods…with a passion.

I wasn’t shying away.

You see, in Texas the ability to handle spicy foods is practically a rite of passage…and I had passed it with flying colors…several years back.

So I think he and Phil hoped I would be hopping up and down and begging for water after the first miniscule bite.

They were ready for some fun at my expense.

But much to their disappointment (and mine), it didn’t seem to have any bite.

I chewed…and thought it was okay but kept wondering when it would kick in.

It never did.

So Fred and Phil stared and stared…waiting for steam to drift from my ears, or my head to explode, but nothing happened.

To this day, Craig and I are still snickering about this little episode….

More photos from the first trip:

 

 
Laura in Philadelphia (Looking 80s)

 
Craig in New York (Dreaming Business Dreams)

to be continued…

Comments

[Laura]

Thanks, Marie! I love getting more background, and you're absolutely right...of course. When we were in Canada, there were more neighborhoods based around groups of recent immigrants from the same country. I think they felt more comfortable being around people whom spoke the same language...just as Craig and I did when in Cananda. We always lived in neighborhoods with higher anglophone populations.

The grandparents were such interesting people, and were very loving to me. I'm very grateful to them.

We loved spending time with you today. Thank you for the wonderful meal. We're very blessed to have you and Al in our lives.

[Marie]

I think the identification of the different ethnic ladies was because when they where growing up they lived in neighborhoods where lots of Italian people lived. Their parents gravitated to these neighborhoods when they migrated for identification with others like them. One of my Grandmothers never spoke English because everyone she came in contact with spoke Italian as did their children. Now my other Grandmother became a business woman helping her husband run his butcher shop so she became familiar with the English language and the financial end of the business. This should clear up the oddity. I have been enjoying your blog about "the Grandparents" Thanks - Great Writing. Marie