Two of my older sisters were planning a trip to Italy for October of 1998. They used to complain about how our mom always made them drag me along when they wanted to go somewhere when we were younger, so of course I invited myself along for this trip. My sisters love me now, as opposed to the complicated and intertwined web of emotions we all experience as kids, and were thrilled to let me join in the fun (or at least tolerated me well.)
Some of our desire to see Italy came from the fact that our dad was 100 percent Sicilian, so it was our heritage. I know George doesn’t sound Italian: when my grandparents arrived at Ellis Island, the name was Giorgio. Since an "i" in Italian is pronounced the same as an "e" in English, we ended up with the name of George. (Thanks Immigration. Next week I’m having "George is the last name" tattooed on my forehead.) My grandfather moved to America in 1905, followed by my grandmother the following year. Dad was born in West Virginia in 1911. The family moved back to Sicily in 1924 because of my grandmother’s failing health, where Dad lived for a few years in his youth. In 1927, as soon as he reached the minimum age to board a ship alone for America, he returned to "the good life." My dad didn’t have fond memories of his time in Italy, as I’ll explain later, so never did anything to encourage us to visit. But we were determined to see our family homeland anyway. Our other reasons for visiting Italy were the same as for everyone, I think: food, wine, and art (including architecture).
So join us on this magical trip as we explore our "homeland" of Italy.