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 fa- ther 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. leave a towel unhung or a shirt unfolded loves to work. At age 71, he now owns “Mozzarella” High School, While all this really began to add up without hearing her voice in my mind multiple businesses and properties and or “Marinara” I knew I was and build up my self-esteem for the first nagging, “Is it so hard to just hang it doesn’t seem to be slowing down any- instead of my name, Marinella. I couldn’t free. People of all colors and shapes time ever, one particular moment stood up or fold it? Doing it now saves time time soon. My father has had a heart at- even relate to Italian-Americans because wandered by wearing all styles and out- out above all the rest. One regular Friday later.” Even when I lived away for a year tack before, a triple bypass, several heart there are so many differences that exist fits of their choice. I felt for once like I night, I sat with my friends in a Friendly’s and a half in Italy and had no one surgeries, a recent pacemaker, and more. between true Italians from Italy and Ital- might be able to blend in. restaurant after a school football game. to impress with my apartment, I But absolutely every single time, the very ian-Americans who had been in America Of course, in high school the subject We took turns around the table play- felt compelled for many generations. of my parents always came up. But for ing the whose-parents-are-the-craziest Not only was I the weird girl who ate spaghetti for lunch while Soon I began to refuse to eat my moth- once in my life, I was surrounded with game, and I was eager to talk. Taking a er’s cooking. I feigned disgust so often at bubbles of kind, curious questions that deep breath, I had told everyone to pre- everyone else ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on white bread, her food that she just stopped offering I didn’t mind answering. “When did they pare themselves for my story. But as I I was the girl whose mother would never let her go to slumber parties.” dinner to me. I wanted tacos and Chi- come over?” “Do you speak Italian?” went through my story of my mother ‘4 5 being a crazy Italian woman and my fa- once felt about my family and my heri- ther being more like the guy who just tage, and more importantly, how I must worked all the time rather than a throw- have made my parents feel. I feel stupid, baseballs-around-with-the-kids-type, the even, for having ever acted so ridiculous- looks on people’s faces were not what ly. Now, I embrace everything that makes I expected. Suddenly, I was surrounded me the spicy Italian number that I am, by envy. “I wish my Mom knew how to from talking with my hands to my recog- cook! My Mom doesn’t even know how nizably loud voice. to make a TV dinner,” “My Dad hardly And only now that I’m older, I real- ever works,” “Your parents are so cool!” ize the benefits and gifts that my- heri and “I wish my parents were like yours! tage has instilled in me from growing up My parents are just boring and normal.” with immigrant parents. My mother, an avid reader, was amazed the minute she uddenly it felt good to be saw the Philadelphia Public Library. The Italian Facts different. How lucky I was sheer volume and numbers of the books that my parents worked their were amazing compared to the library in hands to the bone to provide her small town in Italy. She craved mate- me with the life I had and the freedom rial to read so strongly that she took an S Italian-English dictionary and a book she About 16 million Italian to have an option of what I wanted to do with my life. I felt incredibly guilty wanted to read in English, and sat with Americans are currently as I began to understand how much them side-by-side next to one another, in the United States. trouble my mother went to each and picking apart every single sentence and every day cooking and cleaning for all every single word, determined to learn of us, and all the work they must have English just so she could read. Because done to even get to America. All the of my mother, I not only learned to read hardships and stress, prejudices, lan- way before kindergarten, but I learned Italian Americans make guage barriers, and more that they had that looking up a word you even slightly up about 6 percent of wondered about or were not sure of is to overcome really hit me hard. I began the U.S. population. to finally see them as heroes and role the only way to truly understand some- models. I began to see their feelings thing. To learn something, it isn’t enough when I had hurt them in my attempts to for someone to tell you or explain it, but destroy who I was. you have to experience and learn and re- I started feeling pride slowly. Instead search it for yourself. And, of course, my The Olive Garden is the of going out of my way to meet friends love of reading and languages can only most popular Italian be due to my mother. anywhere but my house, I took pleasure restaurant in the United in bringing them to my house. Their jaws My father, the workaholic, has taught dropped at the sight of my parents’ near- me as well that I don’t have to work all States. replica Italian villa home, and I eagerly the time like him, but that I must always rushed them in- work hard. I can’t expect anything to side to see all our just be handed to me. From my father, antique statues I have learned that nothing is impos- Wine is the most- and pond. I start- sible, no task too ed realizing that And only now that I’m older, big, no possibil- consumed alcohol having something I realize the benefits and gifts ity too daunting people drink each year. so different was a or impossible. I plus and an advan- that my heritage has instilled have learned the tage. I began invit- in me from growing up value of a dol- ing everyone over lar, the merits The average American for dinner, gloat- ‘with immigrant parents.” of saving, and ing that my mother had once owned a the knowledge to know when to eats 20 lbs. of pasta very popular Italian restaurant in Phila- spend. Work hard and the rest will come each year. delphia. I started speaking Italian when to you. I was given the opportunity and teaching From my life growing up as a child of friends fun words, which they all seemed immigrant parents, I have experienced excited to learn. I became known as “Lit- things most American children will nev- tle Italy” due to my height and obvious er even hear of or understand, Italianness. and I would never change a When people commented on how thing. Everything that I have Italian I was in my appearance, I thanked gone through has made me the them for the compliment. And now, person I am today, and the proud looking back, I feel shame for what I Italian that I will always be. 6