I’m Italian….And If You Believe That I Have A Bridge I Can Sell You Too

I told my mom time and time again to leave my father.  He was mean to her.  He would tell her to loose weight, boss her around etc…I couldn’t understand her attraction to him.  He was way overweight, ate like a slob, dressed like a pig.  He was disgusting.  He was dark.  He greased his hair.  He wasn’t close to his family.  He in fact never really spoke of them and certainly never went to visit.  He hated where he came from.  He made stuff up about his family.  He said he was Italian.  And he really made me feel the Italian pride.  It must have drove my mother crazy.  She knew he wasn’t really Italian…and if he was he certainly wasn’t raised as such.  He was raised a black man in Norfolk, VA.  Anyway, the second child never came.  And she did divorce my father.  And he was devastated.  But really I can’t see how he didn’t see it coming.  She tried repeatedly to tell him how she was feeling but he disregarded her.  And to his credit, she did have a tendency to bottle her feelings up inside.  Until one day she just burst.  She couldn’t take it anymore.  At least that’s what I tell myself.

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 Uncle Cliff (my grandmothers brother) and Me

One day several years ago one of his sisters emailed me.  I was adamant and told her …if you are trying to get me to talk to my dad, forget it.  If you are emailing me to get to know me, well then that’s great.  Come to find out…his family was awesome.  I mean really really awesome.  And he lied and lied and lied…. What a dumbass.

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Aunt Lucy, Me and Aunt Eleanor

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3 thoughts on “I’m Italian….And If You Believe That I Have A Bridge I Can Sell You Too

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