Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • While still a girl in Italy she fell off of a donkey and broke her arm. They set it wrong and for the rest of her life her arm looked not right. I don't know exactly how not right, just not right. Our existence didn't overlap. She was no longer alive by the time I got here to the planet. I know a few more things, like her favorite TV show. Her favorite TV show was "Station-a-wagona" (Everyone else knew it as 'Wagon Train,' a show that was at one time as I am told popular, but that's all I know.) I know that she liked to send the grandchildren to the store for "boila am" and "spareeps!" The 2nd generation America-born children did not know what these items were, but dutifully requested them at the corner store and were given boiled ham, spare ribs. She named her own kids Salvatore, Alfredo, Alberto, Elvira, Adeline, Guillermo, Eva and Florence.

    Everything about her was Italian old world. I met her children and her Grandchildren. And as of last week her children are all dead.
    I've eaten her recipes. Gnocci, something called COO-UH-DIT-TEE, easter bread, chicken soup with pastina, spaghetti with anchovy, cod, biscotti, italian wedding cookies, jello with banana and pecans and whipped cream.
    Now I am gluten and milk and tomato and nightshade and sugar and 30 other foods intolerant. Comfort intolerant. I haven't learned Italian as of yet. And neither has my brother.

    I used to tell everyone I met I was Italian when I was a kid. Now I don't. And my heart is breaking!
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.