A Family Trilogy
From Sicily to America - 1889 -1966
Nonfiction / Biography
Date Published: October 19, 2020
Publisher: BookBaby
I am introducing you to the Buonofortes: A family similar to my mother's family and the millions of other families who immigrated to this great country at the beginning of the last century. The Italian immigrants took their place among the other immigrants who came before them and who were already acclimated and settled in their new country. Similar to all the new immigrants, regardless of nationality, they all shared the same passion: to make a better life for themselves, their children, and generations to come. This is a fictional/non-fictional account of the Buonforte family. A family that came from Sicily, Italy in the early 1900's to make a better life for the children and finally settle on East Clifton Avenue, New Jersey. Non fictional events are inter-weaved with fictional events and people. The Buonoforte family lived in Clifton, New Jersey, a town similar to thousands of small towns in the northeastern part of the United States. Within the story of the Buonoforte family, the sacrifices, potential rewards, and heartbreak of unconditional love are the main message: Rethink behaviors as to not repeat the same mistakes that eventually destroy families. A message that I hope millions of other families may be able to relate to, understand, and be moved by. You will see within the Buonoforte family that there are those who are emotional and affectionate, and those who may be emotional and not affectionate. Although brothers and sisters may share the same genetics, it is a puzzle why if brought up by the same parents they can be so different. It creates much confusion and potential hurt. Perhaps if that is understood, we can let go of old vendettas and hurt feelings, reconnect, and grow.
Introduction
After
my mother passed away in 2009, we had the arduous task of cleaning out her
condo, which included her storage unit in the basement of her complex. There I
found some remnants of my parents’ possessions stored in boxes and plastic
containers with no apparent organization. There were old dishes, kitchenware,
all kind of old papers and documents, Christmas decorations, and pictures.
There was also my mother’s “hope chest”—a one-time popular marital tradition
that has since all but vanished. Upon a bride’s engagement, she was given a
wooden chest that was filled with linens, bed sheets and blankets, lingerie, and
so on. It is also referred to as a brides’ “trousseau.” Almost sixty years
later, my mother’s hope chest contained old pictures, old Valentines, and “Our
First Christmas” cards from my father, as well as some of their engagement and
wedding memorabilia. Looking through the contents just reaffirmed my belief
that we didn’t own anything; everything we have is borrowed. The personal
memories attached to our belongings disappear in a dumpster when we die, or
years later when there is little or no significance attached to them. A perfect
example is my parents’ love-letters.
My parents lived a few towns apart
from each other before they were married, and phone charges were expensive so
letters were a very economical way of communicating—a far cry from today’s e-mail
and texting. There were also old pictures and letters to and from my father and
his family who were living in Warren, Pennsylvania when he was in the U.S. Air Force
during World War II and stationed in Japan. I was a little reluctant to read
the love letters, because it seemed I was delving into something very private
that no one else was intended to read. However, curiosity got the best of me
and I put the letters in chronological order according to the postmarks and
started to read through them. It not only gave me a whole different perspective
on my parents, but it also awakened long-lost remembrances regarding their
personalities and the contrast of how their personalities changed over the
years.
My father died in 1983, and for the
prior seven years of his life he was sick on and off with heart problems. As
happens when people are struggling with their health, his personality changed.
He went from being very energetic, and someone who loved to laugh, to being
very cautious, worrisome, and sometimes melancholy. My mother’s personality
also changed when my father was ill, and even more so after he died. Their
personalities didn’t change in a bad way, but during my father’s illness and
after his death, there was an underlying fear and anxiety that comes with
illness and the aftermath of death for those left behind. Reading their letters
brought me back to who they really were when I was growing up. It was a
bittersweet reminder: bitter because it was a reminder of how they had changed,
and sweet because I was reminded of who they once were and the hopes and dreams
they had for themselves and their family.
Also in the hope chest were some
news articles marking my grandparent’s (my mother’s parents) golden wedding
anniversary, my grandparent’s embarkation papers, and an assorted array of
other documents. There were so many old pictures, like of my parent’s
honeymoon, which were very small and hadn’t been looked at for decades. Among
the many other pictures were some of people I remember, but many of people who
I do not. Unfortunately, there isn’t anyone alive to help identify these people,
so to me they are just anonymous relatives or friends of my parents and
grandparents. When I’m gone, all of these people, and even the ones I remember,
will be anonymous, and the pictures and papers will eventually be thrown away
and the memories of these people will simply disappear. Most memories of my
parents will eventually disappear as well. But more than just pictures and
papers will disappear. Everything my parents taught me will also be gone: All
the stories and people my grandparents and relatives used to talk about will be
forgotten forever. Even though I tell my children some of these stories, and
pass on the wisdom of my parents’ teachings, the stories don’t have the same
meaning.
This realization brought on some
profound thoughts, feelings, and questions. For example, what constitutes a
family? How do families transition from one generation to the next? What bonds
a family together through the good times and the bad? Shouldn’t each generation
learn lessons from the last generation, so that we don’t repeat the same
mistakes that eventually destroy families? Are we bound by our genetics to act
out the same bad characteristics from one generation to the next or can we
change behaviors? Must a “bad” family history always repeat itself, as bad human
history repeats itself? How can some members of one family love
unconditionally, while others are absorbed with their own wants, needs,
jealousies, resentment, and ignorance and have little affection for other
family members?
But what if we could look back to
past generations and observe how the behavior of each family member can impact the
others, and also see how wrong conclusions and lack of communication build
mountains of useless hurt, resentment, jealousy, and hate. Like everyone else,
I have observed many examples of family behaviors both good and bad. For
example, shortly after my mother’s father died, my grandmother moved into our
home and into my little bedroom. There was only room for two twin beds, a chest
of drawers, and a chair. I never thought much of it because I was about twelve
at the time and I thought this is what families do. I also really loved my
grandmother, so to me it was going to be fun. However, after a while it put a
strain particularly on my mother, because she was raising three young boys and
taking care of a house and a husband who was, thank God, very understanding and
compassionate. Being twelve years old and seeing the strain on my mother, I
didn’t understand why my mother’s family didn’t help as much as they should
have—my grandmother was their mother too! After all, my mother was the seventh
out of eight children, and you would think the older ones who could afford to
spend the time to help or even take her in to live with them did very little,
but at same time the ones who couldn’t afford the time or the room did as much
as they could. And then there were the older grandchildren as well. Where were
they?
As it turned out, I ended up
spending a lot of time helping my grandmother because my mother was always busy
taking care of the house, my father worked full time, and my two brothers were
much younger and needed care. For a while it was great because my grandmother
would tell me stories about my grandfather and how it was when they first came
to this country from Sicily. I was always fascinated by all the stories and I
remember most of them as if she told me them yesterday.
Unfortunately, after a couple years
my grandmother’s health began to decline. I had to wash her feet, comb her hair,
and help her to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I don’t think my
efforts with my grandmother were heroic in any sense of the word. This is just
what I did. I guess it was what was expected of me, like many others in similar
situations. I guess I didn’t realize it at the time, but my parents were agapic
(selfless) in their style of loving and they did the best they could in raising
us with unconditional love. Parenting is done by example, and both of my parents
were great examples.
After years of studying and
teaching intrapersonal and interpersonal communication, and interpersonal
relationships, I believe you have to be born with the abilities of
unconditional agapic love. I don’t know if it is something that can be learned,
that we can change and mature into. Perhaps it is what is in our DNA, just as
we can’t change our height or the color of our eyes. But at the same time,
there are degrees where we can modify our behavior. I call it the “Ebenezer
Scrooge Syndrome”! But it comes with hard-learned lessons.
When my grandmother began to fall
to the point of having to be brought to the hospital for stiches, a decision
had to be made. She needed round-the-clock care that we could not provide. My
parents made the hard decision, especially my mother, to place my grandmother
in a nursing home. She lived there for about a year and then passed away in her
sleep. Of course the dynamics of my mother’s family drastically changed. People
were getting older, getting sick, and dying off. As they died, so did their
experiences and memories forever. I really didn’t know if anyone was as
interested in our family history as I was. It isn’t an extraordinary history,
but I believe it is important to hand down any family history to one’s family. Look
at the popularity of all the DNA ancestry companies.
I always knew that as I get older
my grandmother and her stories would all disappear with me. To me they are
important, and I want to share these stories with my children who are part of
our heritage. The problem is the stories are all disjointed and they would be
just stand-alone little family remembrances taken out of a larger context with
little interest. What I decided to do is create a fictional storyline and
intersperse the true stories, which take place in the town and on the street
where my grandparents lived and where I spent a lot of time as a child. I
combined the characteristics of relatives and others within fictional
characters and blended family members and situations that can evoke thought and
emotions. I also wanted to interweave little life lessons that can be learned
by not only the good things that I have witnessed but also the not-so-good
things that perhaps can be avoided if one can see the negative consequences.
While telling the story of the
Buonoforte family there are many underlining questions: What do we have to
offer future generations? Why do bad family behaviors repeat themselves? How do
we not make the same mistakes past generations have made in the name of
“blood”? At one time, countries were bound by bloodlines, with the idea that a
mixing of blood through children would result in peace and prosperity. But as
time went on, those bloodlines were broken and even more chaos erupted. As
then, much is taken for granted in the name of blood, and with that there is
also much pain. True family bonds are cultivated with the love-of-life
experiences with those who are generous and make personal sacrifices and share.
Most importantly, it is the type of love that binds the family and builds
relationships. It is the expression of “unconditional love.”
Having the capacity to love
unconditionally can be both a blessing and a curse. It is a blessing because
having that love reciprocated is what makes life a wonderful experience and
brings families together. It is also a curse, because if that love is not
reciprocated it can be heartbreaking. Unconditional love does not mean that we
don’t take responsibility for our actions and our behaviors; on the contrary, loving
unconditionally takes work, open communication, and selflessness.
As I wrote and revised the story of
the Buonofortes and the characters around them, it brought me both happiness
and sadness. I was able to reach back and remember so many wonderful people who
because of my youth I couldn’t appreciate at the time. My mother was the
seventh of eight children, so by the time I grew out of being a hyper and
rambunctious kid, everyone was beginning to become sick and pass away. But I do
have my memories, and this book will be a testament to that part of my life for
me, my children, and to others who can relate.
Within the story of the Buonoforte
family, the sacrifices, potential rewards, and heartbreak of unconditional love
are the main message: Rethink behaviors as to not repeat the same mistakes that
eventually destroy families. A message that I hope millions of other families
may be able to relate to, understand, and be moved by. You will see within the
Buonoforte family that there are those who are emotional and affectionate, and
those who may be emotional and not affectionate. Although brothers and sisters
may share the same genetics, it is a puzzle why if brought up by the same
parents they can be so different. It creates much confusion and potential hurt.
Perhaps if that is understood, we can let go of old vendettas and hurt
feelings, reconnect, and grow.
An
important note: As
you read the dialogue, remember the characters for the most part may be
speaking in Italian, interspersing English. For clarity and understanding, I
have written the dialogue in an easy English conversational tone, sometimes
interspersing some Italian for interest as I remember some of the conversations
of my parents and relatives.
As you begin to read through this
first book of the trilogy, I hope you believe as I do that this is a story for
all families and a story for all time….
With that, “Godere”…Enjoy!
About the Author
Earned a bachelor's degree in Political Science and English. Earned a master's degree in Communication and television Production. Television producer, director and writer from 1980 until 1997. Worked in the United States and internationally. A real estate and business investor. Adjunct communications Professor since 1998 to present. Earned a doctorate degree in Education with a concentration in psychology.
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