Never Letting Go: The Great Depression and WWII Couldn’t Keep This Italian Family Apart


By: Vincenzina Grasso

Remembering My First Thanksgiving

I will always cherish the memorable Thanksgiving of 1947. My father came to New York City to meet the family he had left behind in Italy many years ago.

When we arrived in America we traveled to Sharon, Penn. by train. My father’s distant cousin and her husband picked us up, and we went directly to their home. A traditional Thanksgiving meal was ready to be served, welcoming us to America, even though it was not the actual date of this great American feast. I was famished.

As we crossed the stormy Atlantic Ocean for two long weeks, I was seasick throughout the entire trip. My only refuge was to lay in bed and daydream about what it would be like when we at last arrived in America.

After being separated by The Great Depression and World War II, we were going to meet our father. My twin sister Maria and I were 13 years old, our brother Stefano was 17, and along with our mother, we were all eager to see our father. What an unimaginable joy it would be to hug our father for the first time!

We soon all sat down for an unforgettable meal. I could not take my eyes off the succulent turkey, “Wow, that is a huge chicken,” I thought. Everything on the menu was unfamiliar to us. The turkey with fluffy mashed potatoes were delectable. I did not know that sweet potatoes even existed. That day we also learned that pumpkin pie was made from a pumpkin which was delightful and amazing!

Another strange item was the Jell-O mold. When I tried to eat a spoonful it trembled, wobbled, and wiggled all the way to my mouth. After a few tries I finally took smaller bites, and it worked. I will never forget that fabulous meal!

Our next challenge came when our father enrolled us in public school. We were enrolled in first grade since we knew no English. The perplexed, wide-eyed school children wondered why three teenagers were coming into their classroom. Our teacher, Mrs. Shilling, had to scramble to find larger desks for us. The next day she arrived in the classroom with two large American-Italian dictionaries. Thus, the saga of my education began, lasting seven years and proudly graduating with honors in 1954.

To this day, when I hear our beloved patriotic songs, I vividly remember the children helping us memorize the words. But the only word we actually recognized was the word “America.”

When Thanksgiving Day approached, we learned so much about the origin of this American feast. Seeing the children dressed in pilgrim attire was impressive, and we learned our first American history lesson. We learned that Thanksgiving is a day of religious celebration with family reunions, with bountiful dinners and with festivities in the home.

In our home, the first Thanksgiving was truly special. We had so much to be thankful for. We were grateful that God had spared us during the hours of war. We had overcome hunger, epidemics, and the fear of being bombed. It was during those trying times that we doubted we would ever meet our father. Without communications, he constantly worried about our safety.

Now, we were finally reunited, enjoying a special Thanksgiving meal prepared by our father, accompanied by our Mother’s delicious home-made ravioli. Her ravioli became a part of our Thanksgiving dinner, which she alternated with her rich lasagna, for the rest of her life. For dessert, our friend Mariangela Bianco surprised us with two pumpkin pies, since we had not mastered that skill yet.

Through the years I have been blessed with innumerable Thanksgiving feasts. Of course, I had to continue my mother’s traditions, which now our sons are teaching their children, just as my mother began so many, many years ago.

Today, as we contemplate celebrating the 2020 Thanksgiving Day, we should thank God for sparing us from the scourge of the coronavirus. We should also pray God will give consolation to thousands of families who lost family members.

Wishing you many blessings this unforgettable Thanksgiving.

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