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Publisher’s Note:
Cover: photos courtesy of the author
This is a work of non-fiction.
Solstice Publishing - www.solsticepublishing.com
Olga Cossi 2012
To my two
sisters, and to sisterhoods everywhere.
Chapter One
Mama tried to get me at a very early age to acknowledge my old-world ties and admit that I was an Italian. My first reaction was to rebel. Even though I was a very little girl, I made my own Declaration of Independence: “I’m an American!” My mother reminded me of that occasionally, claiming those were my first words. But time has a way of mellowing our convictions. Years later I have come to realize what strong and resilient connections we have with our ethnic roots. At last, I am ready to admit that those very roots I refused to acknowledge were the force behind the independence I claimed.
What was there about being an American rather than an Italian that attracted me? Like many children, I came to the conclusion that because my parents were foreign-born, somehow that made me a second class citizen. I associated being Italian with being inferior, even though I knew our parents loved us and thought we were special. When I was old enough to go to a movie theater, I noticed that the underworld characters were often Italian. They spoke broken English. They came from poor neighborhoods. Somehow, those negative images were more impressive than all the wonderful accomplishments in science, music, and the arts for which Italy is famous. Not until I was grown up did I learn that each country and culture has made unique contributions to human advancement. Because I didn’t know that, I stubbornly refused to relate to anything that wasn’t American.