A Labor Day Memory

I had an uncle that raised squab, that's fancy pigeon for all you peasants, and on Labor day weekend we traveled to upstate New York for a large family dinner. I was maybe 8 or 9 years old at the time. My Italian family is quite large and I remember at least fifty family members there including my maternal grandparents. It was a gathering of Schemmenti's, Marinelli's, Bruno's and Mantovani's. Families that represented Italian culture that spread from Veneto and Lombardia in the north, through Compania and Basilicata in the south and then on to Sicilia.

An amazing gathering of four generations of a family that grew out of immigration to New Your City starting in 1865.

I remember a table spread with food that represented every region my family had lived. The Italian language flowing as smoothly as it did before immigration. Grandchildren running in every direction enjoying the country air and just being out of the city.

I do not believe that I loved my family more than I did this day. It was like we had moved back to Italy and I was being taught my roots first hand. I soaked in everything and for the first time I felt what it was to be an Italian and why we were such a proud people.

All this because we sat down to a meal of this little bird. My love for squab has never wavered because of this memory and because it is delicious.

The memories did not end when we all got back in our cars and headed home. My dad drove the entire way and at one point he had to pee. Yes people our parents peeded, lol. It was late and no bathroom was in site so dad, as many men would, pulled the car over and got out. He peeded in front of the car, head lights ablaze and my mom yelling at him the entire time. I still laugh when I think about this episode. My prim and proper father peeing on the side of the road. An amazing site for sure. My mother was so upset she continued to yell at him for miles. That Sicilian temper flaring.

 Here is the kicker. That is the only time, in my entire life, I ever heard my mother and father argue. In all those years of marriage they were nothing but two people on a never ending honeymoon. I so envy them.

My mother and father; the greatest love story ever told.

Randy