They Came To America and Loved It!

Funny You Should Ask
Humor and Satire by Sam Di Bernardo

Some heck of a tail (Sic)

Have you ever been to Ellis Island? I have and so have my parents—at different times of course. They, my parents, were the “huddled masses” yearning to go to the country where the streets were lined with gold.

My parents were never disappointed; both became fiercely proud American Citizens and voted in every major election from the time they took the oath of allegiance. My father came over at seventeen with some high school education and quickly learned to read and write English and picked up Yiddish from working in hat and mattress factories in New England. He always retained that Italian accent. When he spoke people would look astonished because my father looked as Jewish as a Rabbi and as handsome, as learned and very distinguished! God, was he handsome and my mother was his prized beauty!

My father was born Giuseppe but was called “Joe” in his new country and Peppe by his friends -- everyone loved him. He was “hail fellow, well met” and the “life of the party” but, not at home. Poppa at home was the Padrone and the Master! When he raised his voice, we listened and, when he was home we kids (three) brother , sister and I were angels. We knew our way around him and how to avoid the ever threatening leather belt he wore but he never hit us, not once or ever. Give him a bottle of homemade wine, a loaf of bread and clove of garlic and poppa lion was as content as domesticated sheep as he headed to his much adored sofa to count them.

My mother, was another story; she came over at seven. Ellis Island has the records of her arrival with her mother and three brothers. The records are all computerized and fun and exciting to see. Momma told me about the wonder of seeing the Statue Of Liberty and seeing snow for the first time on the boat’s railing and sticking her hand into it; she kept it there so long that they had to take her to the ship’s doctor crying in pain. She told me that story 40 years later and she still had the pain etched on her Sicilian wrinkle free Facia bella. Both parents were fantastic cooks and my mother’s chicken sauce and my fathers seafood fruitti di mar were to die for. My father made his own wine in our cellar and one time “tapping the barrel” wine spilled on the floor and he got down on his knees and lapped it up crying and wagging his tail at the same time.

Talking about poppa’s tail; of course he didn’t have one but he did have hemorrhoids and momma being the joker she was, removed Vaseline from its jar and replaced it with Vick’s Vapor Rub. One night about three in the morning when poppa made his usual “pit stop” he decided he wanted a “lube job” for his coullo and the Vick’s hit the fan; yipes, when the Vick’s was applied poppa hit the roof screaming in all three of his languages reserving the choice curse words for the devil, the doctors, the lawyers, the bosses and every animal on earth all while doing a tarantella all around the house and asking for help from Jesu Christa. After that night his piles disappeared—guess they were too afraid to ever come out again! Talk of “home remedies!” What’s that expression about an ill wind? Momma never did ‘fess up to what she had done. And even though she was “programmed” for thrift during the great depression she threw both jars, the evidence, into the yard next to the fig tree and grape vines. Years ago there was a slogan by Theodore, Dr. Seuss, Geisel, for an insecticide bug spray that went “Quick, Henry, the Flit” no doubt, for many, way before your time. To get mom’s goat we kids used to say “Quick, Henry, the Vick’s!"

Funny you should ask, my mother’s nickname was Maria la Grabba (grabba is goat in Sicilian) because she raised goats as a young girl and she was used to having them around. They would all come when she called wagging their “tails” behind them. Momma Mary had no accent butt (sic) she was a practical joker! I deliciously add here, My Momma, was in my opinion, the greatest gardener on the planet—she was a “plant whisperer” and she could coo and fondle tomatoes till they grew to the size of pumpkins and my father would take them and, with a secret technique he learned as a boy in Marsala, make a simple salad with basil and garlic so delicious your brains would fall out of your head; of course, after you licked your plate…


Sam Di Bernardo