my dad called me 13 times yesterday. sometimes my Italian flare will allow me to enhance some parts of stories. this time i am not exaggerating.

when my father arrived through new york at 28 years old i don’t think he knew what the united states would show him; people who made fun of his accent and a job on an assembly line for 28 years.

fast forward 54 years. my mother, his wife is gone.



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adriana suriano

i am a first generation italian-american who grew up in southern new jersey. Life is amazingly beautiful and devastating. Sometimes in the same day.