I officially turned 69, earlier this morning around 3! I know this because for most of my life my mother would always recount the particulars of my birth!
My father was not present as he had immigrated to San Francisco at the beginning of the month. Most of his family, save one sister who remained in Italy , were already there and ready to sponsor him! He’d already postponed his voyage to the US a few times, and, according to my mom, this was his last chance! So, basically, my mother, my 5 year old sister and one year old brother were all present the night of the 30th of October, 1954!
It was literally “a dark and stormy night!” Our house was located in a beautiful hillside in Albareto in Northern Italy, and the name of the village is Spalavera! The midwife and my grandmother were to arrive within a day or so , but my mother’s “dolori,” pains, started sooner! Word was sent via a cousin who lived nearby,
In the meantime my young sister was sent out to get water to boil, and as my mother went out to help she encountered a snake, and quickly looked away, as it was known that looking into the face of a snake would harm the baby! Once inside, a crying brother had burned his hand on an electric cord and also had a temperature! Alone with two kids and one on the way, my mother bore the pain throughout the night awaiting help.
Finally in the early morning hours help came with the arrival of my grandmother and the midwife. But, according to my mother’s story-legend she grabbed her dress and pulled it between her legs, lest I fall out, and laboriously made it up a set of very narrow stairs with no railing to the bedroom upstairs. She barely had time to lie down before, and I quote,” I fell out!” At this point my mother would always end with, “ And, I’ve had a problem with hemorrhoids ever since!” She concluded that I weighed 5 kilos which is literally 11 pounds 3 ounces. I always argued that this could not have been accurate – that maybe she had weighed me much later – probably in the barn with the old scale they used for the farm animals!!!
Each year the story was told, whether or not, I was interested! When I got older it was always accompanied by my mother‘s delicious Manhattans and tasty snacks, and much laughter ensued as I contested each and every detail. When a card was sent to me she had a tendency to always write the date being 1954 – whatever the year was. I did try to explain that this is what is written when someone has passed, but she continued anyway! One year I was busy in my kitchen and not with her, so my husband listened to the story on the phone which he did so patiently, after which his conclusion was that all birthday gifts should be given to her and not me!
My mother’s physical presence has been gone since 2001, and, yet I hear her voice, see her smile , feel her presence in my life!! My mother was an amazing storyteller, and, though growing up straddling two cultures had its challenges, I’m ever so grateful for my life, my heritage, my wonderful extended Italian family, and on my birthday each year, as I remember my very own birth story, proud.
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