Naturally, Marinella Della Vecchia Has a Spirit Unlike Many Others

Me and my Story and Photographs by Marinella Della Vecchia VerveLayout by Allison Myers Naturally, Marinella Della Vecchia has a spirit unlike many others. But it is her family that has helped give her this ener- gy. Marinella’s Italian family are literally her verve and pro- vide the spirit within her. She explains her journey that has brought her a new realization of her delightful and unique family. ll my life, I’ve lived surrounded by arches, naked white statues, a pond in my foyer, a red tiled roof and scents of tomato sauce made from scratch cooking in large vats on the stove. Perfectly fitting if I had grown up in Italy, but I grew up in America, in a tiny Italian bubble. AMy parents are immigrants from Italy. They came here separately, my father in the 1950s and my mother at the end of the 1960s, from two different small towns located on opposite sides of a mountain. In Italy, each town has its own variation on the language or slang, which is called a dialect. Both of my parents share the same Italian dialect because they are from such a close area. But the odds of both of them coming to America separately, years apart, and meeting another Italian with the same dialect is nearly impossible, and yet, they met in Philadelphia, in my mother’s Italian restaurant, Ma Con- Marinella, left, pictured with her sister, right, cetta’s. And then had their four children together (I was No. three). now realizes that family is an important factor Growing up with my parents was not easy. I would have done anything to in who2 she is. 3 to keep it spotless, with day after surgery, he has asked, “So can my mother’s voice ring- I go back to work tomorrow?” as we all Marinella’s parents have ing in my ears, “It doesn’t stand around his hospital bed shaking brought Italy to America by matter if no one is going our heads. In the more than 50 years that re-creating an Italian villa for to see it. You’ll know it’s he has worked, he has only missed one their family home. messy!” day of work. She is as old-fashioned Coming from a background of immi- as they come. As she grant parents who came to America for pointed out to me, nearly a better life, I have felt fear and anxiety every day, 10 times a day, about my place and career in life. My par- for about 21 years so far, ents were poor Italians from tiny towns no matter what year it that didn’t have running water or real was, morals and the right schools. They walked miles to the next thing to do have never town each day in rain and snow to carry changed. This included back water or visit the minuscule library. not wearing anything They came to America with hopes of that showed cleavage, or more possibilities and better lives. But skirts above the knee, or for me, all of this was almost wasted. god forbid, bikinis. And Growing up was nothing I would re- no hanging out with boys peat. Not only was I the weird girl who Marinella’s grandfather, alone, EVER, or friends ate spaghetti for lunch while everyone left, arrived from Italy for longer than two hours, else ate peanut butter and jelly sand- 15 years after her father, because god forbid some- wiches on white bread, but I was the girl right, came to America. one thought I was doing whose mother would never let her go to brunette hair I begged and cried to my nese food and chicken and all the normal “Have you ever been to Italy before?” something unlady-like, or slumber parties. I’ll never forget the day mother to let me have highlights. At one things that normal American people ate. Everyone was so genuinely interested. I came off as rude and a classmate told me that my parents talk- point I spent every waking minute hat- I wanted to take out my peanut butter Girls gushed over how gorgeous and have had “normal” American parents. I overstayed my welcome. ed funny. I was in shock. My parents talk ing my dark, black Italian eyebrows. Sur- and jelly sandwich at lunch instead of perfect my eyebrows were, Irish girls wanted my biggest embarrassment to be She doesn’t believe in sleepovers ands funny? Since when? And it wasn’t just rounded by Irish and blond fair-skinned my proscuitto or mortadella sandwiches moaned in their envy of my olive skin, my mother dropping me off at school she doesn’t believe in going away with the other children, but their parents as classmates, I was overcome with horror or spaghetti-with-meat-sauce lunches. In and girls begged me to tell them how to in the morning and kissing me goodbye. anyone outside your family, and there well. On the rare occasion I was over at a of how much my eyebrows stood out on fact, it was only when I was 16 that I ever make their hair as thick as mine. I had Instead, I was mortified when my moth- is never any reason to stay out or awake schoolmate’s house, their parents would my face. I prayed each night that I’d wake tried a taco or Chinese food! no idea what was going on, but I liked er ran to third base, rather than first, dur- past 9 p.m. ask me questions like, “Do your parents up with light eyebrows and pale skin. I At times, when my parents went it! And I loved even more that I could ing our Girl Scout baseball game because My father would look like a typical speak English?” “Does your Dad make spent years shielding my body from the on their tangents, lecturing us on how answer back with a simple, “I guess I she had no clue how the American sport workaholic to anyone who met him, but pizza for a living?” And this was right af- sun, hating my naturally dark and easily things used to be for them, and how easy have parents to thank for that.” Boys worked. he’s more than that. He loves to work. ter my mother had just dropped me off tanned complexion. When people com- we kids had it here in America, but how called me ridiculous things like “exotic” My mother is the model Italian moth- He absolutely loves his job. He came to and in perfect English, said, “Hello.” mented on how tanned I looked through- we just took it all for granted, and they and asked me to speak Italian to them, er. She practically lives in the kitchen, and America at age 15 in the 1950s with an With day after day of this kind of treat- out the year, I didn’t understand why we did the things while people begged me to admit my fa- thanks to her, our house is permanently arranged marriage to his first wife, an ment, I grew ashamed. I was ashamed and cringed. I spent we did, I would blurt out spiteful words. ther was really like the Italians from The scented with Italian spices and cooking. Italian girl who had just moved here. embarrassed by my parents, my culture, far too many “Well this isn’t Italy, is it?” I fumed. “This Sopranos, and friends encouraged me to She doesn’t believe in anything that isn’t She and one of his two daughters with my looks, everything. I wanted to be any- days deliberat- is America. And if you don’t like that, invite them over for dinner to eat some made from scratch. And she nearly cried her died of cancer, and then he met my thing but Italian. I began my new-found ing whether you should go authentic Italian food. In Latin class, the the one time she found out I ate Chef mother. obsession of being anti-Italian in my ap- I’d change my Girls gushed over how gorgeous back to Italy!” teacher pointed to me as a real-life de- Boyardee in the middle of the night in As he loves to remind me and the rest pearance. With my naturally dark, thick, name to “Jen” and perfect my eyebrows were, Then came scendant of the great Romans. Every- my dorm room, out of sheer despera- of his children, he came to this country or “Alexis” if I high school. one wanted to meet my parents to learn tion for food. with nothing in his pockets and worked had the chance. Irish girls moaned in their envy It was salva- about what it was like to live and grow Growing up with my mother was hard to fill them. But in doing so, my fa- Marinella’s mother. I just wanted of my olive skin, and girls begged tion. From up in Italy. And, thanks to many events stressful and harsh. She is strict, as all ther lost what would be considered an to be normal ‘me to tell them how to make their the moment I at our school where I brought her food old-school Italians are, and she is a pro actual life. He doesn’t have hobbies, he and fit in. I was set foot inside as snacks, everyone wanted my mother at Italian guilt tactics. To this day, I can’t never went on vacation before, and he sick of hearing hair as thick as mine.” Upper Dublin to cook for them.

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