![]() It is very similar to the 1978-1980 versions.as to facts, words and phrases (except that I moved them around a little) and added a new paragraph.bringing it to the 'first person'. ![]() When I was 95-years old, I wrote my last version after a Thanksgiving celebration in my apartment, and I marked it as the last version. I nearly fell-off of my chair, when Claire in 2006 told me it was on the Internet. When I lived in Toms River, N.J., I know for a fact, that my friends in Silver Ridge Park, as well as those in Holiday City, Crestwood Village, and several nearby communities, took my essay and made copies for their respective friends throughout the United States. Many paesan-friends, who had experienced all that I had were so delighted when they read my essay. My essay gave me much pleasure over the years, especially in the seventies and eighties. It was my first blog that resulted in my being named as the oldest blogger.and it was my first blog, unwittingly, caused reaction to my essay The Joy of Growing-up Italian. The validator is Eric Shackle.the renowned World Newsman, Journalist, Internet Investigator and Publisher - to whom I shall eternally be grateful. YES! I am 99 years old.and YES I am the author of "THE Joy of Growing-up Italian, which I wrote on an old manual typewriter in 1968.and yes, I am The Oldest Blogger on Earth until someone else older than me claims the title. I believe he is the proprietor of The John Pirelli Lodge in Dayton, Ohio. What a great show of appreciation! Several of you have also expressed a desire to know the author and John Pirelli is one of them. I want to thank each and everyone for doing so. Perhaps one day I will return to Italy for good and do a double take on the immigration thing and see how it feels to return to a land where you are the outside element, the black sheep coming home so to speak.For several weeks, I've been very busy surfing the internet, seeking those who have placed the essay "The Joy of Growing-up Italian" on the Internet as Author Anonymous. It makes me feel really sad to acknowledge that within the next 25 years most of if not all of what is left of our proud heritage will have passed/faded into distant memories. These days we meet at weddings and wakes. Slowly at first, but then uncles and aunts eventually began to cut down on their visits. And my grandfather, with his gallon jug of wine beside his chair, sitting there grinning his mischievous smile, his eyes twinkling, surveying his domain, proud of how well his family has done.īut sadly things are winding down, we are now all over the place. ![]() I must have half a million cousins, first and second and some who aren't even related, but what does it matter. Women in the kitchen and men in the living room, and kids, kids everywhere. I remember the holidays when all the relatives would gather at my grandparent's house and there would be tables full of food and homemade wine and music. ![]() This sort of complimented our traditions too. One of my uncles had the OLDS 442 back in the day when the 442 really meant something the other had a Cougar SS and to complete the mix one uncle had the AMC Javelin it would get 2 miles to the gallon. and the rest of the family had equivalent horsepower rated cars. My Dad had the Grand Torino GT with a 351 Cleveland complete with Blower. We had a 10 car rally all of us passing others in synch. I can still remember the races over 100mph on the roads of Quebec I am a First Generation Immigrant yet I am turning 46 this year.īut when I look back at the wonderful times ofĮveryone off to beach on Sunday, let’s run our own version ![]()
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