“A mother is a son’s first love.
—Denzel Washington
“We are born of love; love is our mother.”
—Rumi
Life was not easy for my dear mother. She grew up in a poor village in Roccalumera, Messina (Sicily). She left her mama and papa, and and three siblings in 1947 to settle in Hoboken, NJ, in a strange country with a different culture, language and a society that often rejected her kind. She left her home for a better life, even though my grandfather, a fisherman had insisted she didn’t have to leave, they would make do. Like many immigrants who came to this country she was looking for the American Dream, and hoped to help the family she left behind.
My dad had to post a bond with the US government to assure officials that he and my mother would marry. I never realized it at the time but it was an arranged marriage of sorts. A friend served as a match maker and showed her a photo of my dad. Even though he was Italian he didn’t speak the language and my mother struggled to learn English. My dad worked at Jansens Dairy and she found work in the garment center, essentially a sweat shop. Later, she was able to work from home doing what was called piece work—sewing fur collars on coats. I was born in 1950, and three siblings, Josephine, my late middle brother Michael and brother Steven would follow. In 1957, mom and dad bought a five-unit apartment building in a nice neighborhood in Hoboken, leaving behind an apartment in a tenement building which would eventually burn to the ground. I was seven years old at the time and my sister was two.
My friends loved my parents. My mother had a sharp wit and a infectious laugh, and was a beautiful woman. She was my first love. I owe my career as a podiatrist to her. I was going to quit college and she encouraged me to consult a family friend that she grew up with in Sicily by the name of Carmine Sippo in Union City. He was a dean at Wagner College in Staten Island. He became my first and most consequential mentor who laid out a viable career path for me.
Our mother ran the roost. She took care of the bookkeeping and was instrumental in convincing our dad that they should become homeowners. I will always remember our trips to Sicily that began when I was a young boy and continued making those trips well into adulthood often taking my mom with us. We lost mom on Mother’s Day in 2013 at the age of 88. We were blessed to have her so long.
There are a lot of cactus plants in Sicily. When Cecile and I downsized to a townhome in a gated community in Los Gatos,
CA, there was a cactus garden with familiar oval cactus fruit right outside what would become my home office window. Every time I look down on it, I think of mom and all the sacrifices she made for me and my siblings. Buon Compleano, Mama. I love you.
