2012 Story of Empowerment Contest Winner
That's Amore
My mom and dad were both born in Brooklyn to Italian immigrants. My mom’s family returned to Italy when she was 2 years old. My father went to Italy when he was almost 12.
My dad’s mother had died when he was just 5 years old. His little brother, my uncle, was only 3 at the time, and his baby sister, my aunt Mary, was just 18 months old. I can't even imagine the hurt and devastation my grandfather felt inside; widowed and left with three young children to raise.
My dad told many stories of his life. One story he told was of the day his mom died. Just before she went to the hospital she told my dad to pray for her. I can sit here and cry which I'm doing as I write this, picturing a dying mother asking her 5-year-old son to pray for her. I can't imagine three little children without their mom.
When I start to feel bad or think that life has thrown me an eight ball, all I have to do is think of my mom and dad, and the lives they lived. My dad was forced to serve in the Italian army during World War II, which he didn't want to do. He wanted to return to America. But those in charge with the Italian army said they lost his passport.
My dad ended up being a prisoner of war in Russia for 5 long years. His toes froze off. He almost died, but one of his friends saved his life. This man's name was Chanasa. My dad always said he didn't know if that was his first name or last name. I would have loved to find this person in Italy. I'm sure my dad thanked him millions of times.
My dad was a great dad, and my mom was a very giving mom. My dad was the strength in our family. He was a true man and family man. He must have made a promise to God when he was a prisoner of war about what type of man he would be if he lived.
Every day was a beautiful day for my dad. He was happy to be alive, and he showed it. If it weren't for the man, Chanasa, who saved my dad’s life, I wouldn't be typing this story today.
My mom’s life was just as difficult. My mom was number three of fifteen children.
My grandmother died half an hour after giving birth to her 15th child. She gave birth at home in Italy during World War II. At the age of 23, my mom became the foster mother of all of her siblings, with all the older siblings helping.
Six years later, my mom and dad married. They became instant parents, raising my mom’s siblings together. Mom and Dad also had three children of their own before coming back to America.
I can go on and on about these two loving, hard-willed individuals who have made my life a piece of cake, but I'll end this story now before it becomes a novel.
I miss them more and more every day. The older I get, the more I see how fortunate I have been to call them my mom and dad. Rest in peace my wonderful parents, Maria and Nuncio. Ciao.
By JoAnn Haley © 2012
My dad’s mother had died when he was just 5 years old. His little brother, my uncle, was only 3 at the time, and his baby sister, my aunt Mary, was just 18 months old. I can't even imagine the hurt and devastation my grandfather felt inside; widowed and left with three young children to raise.
My dad told many stories of his life. One story he told was of the day his mom died. Just before she went to the hospital she told my dad to pray for her. I can sit here and cry which I'm doing as I write this, picturing a dying mother asking her 5-year-old son to pray for her. I can't imagine three little children without their mom.
When I start to feel bad or think that life has thrown me an eight ball, all I have to do is think of my mom and dad, and the lives they lived. My dad was forced to serve in the Italian army during World War II, which he didn't want to do. He wanted to return to America. But those in charge with the Italian army said they lost his passport.
My dad ended up being a prisoner of war in Russia for 5 long years. His toes froze off. He almost died, but one of his friends saved his life. This man's name was Chanasa. My dad always said he didn't know if that was his first name or last name. I would have loved to find this person in Italy. I'm sure my dad thanked him millions of times.
My dad was a great dad, and my mom was a very giving mom. My dad was the strength in our family. He was a true man and family man. He must have made a promise to God when he was a prisoner of war about what type of man he would be if he lived.
Every day was a beautiful day for my dad. He was happy to be alive, and he showed it. If it weren't for the man, Chanasa, who saved my dad’s life, I wouldn't be typing this story today.
My mom’s life was just as difficult. My mom was number three of fifteen children.
My grandmother died half an hour after giving birth to her 15th child. She gave birth at home in Italy during World War II. At the age of 23, my mom became the foster mother of all of her siblings, with all the older siblings helping.
Six years later, my mom and dad married. They became instant parents, raising my mom’s siblings together. Mom and Dad also had three children of their own before coming back to America.
I can go on and on about these two loving, hard-willed individuals who have made my life a piece of cake, but I'll end this story now before it becomes a novel.
I miss them more and more every day. The older I get, the more I see how fortunate I have been to call them my mom and dad. Rest in peace my wonderful parents, Maria and Nuncio. Ciao.
By JoAnn Haley © 2012
