I grew up for my first 10 years in an Italian household. My grandfather Pete was the uncontested head of the family, even my father made it a point to never go against him. I spent much of my time hanging out in his shop, watching him work (He was a blacksmith.), and listening to what he had to say.
Papa was raised in Chicago, in the area known as Little Italy. My great-grandfather had immigrated to the United States in the late 1800s, and my grandfather was one of the children born here. He was an unusual man, he left home at 13 after being molested by a Catholic priest, hitchhiked to New Orleans, and went to work on a banana boat going back and forth to South America. When WWI broke out, he lied about his age like so many young men, and joined the Army at 15. He ended up in the cavalry, where he learned the blacksmith trade. He shipped out almost immediately to Europe, saw 13 major engagements, and was mustard gassed twice. (No one to my knowledge ever saw him naked except his doctor.) He met a German girl of 16, fell head over heels in love, married her and spent five years in Ochtendung with the occupation forces, waiting to get my grandmother's papers so she could travel to the
U.S.
My grandfather had a very interesting outlook on life. He was generous to a fault, but when he felt he had been wronged would cut a person off in a heartbeat, and never help them or even acknowledge their presence again. One of his favorite phrases was "You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours." Their house in Chicago had the kitchen in the basement, and my grandmother had a table set up at all times to feed hungry people during the Depression. The hobos who traveled around looking for work marked the house with symbols showing that generous people lived there. I was taught that if someone is hungry, even if we didn't have much, we shared what we had, with the unspoken understanding that they would do the same.
As I have gotten older, and the world has changed, this standard no longer applies here in America. Everyone is out for themselves, and screw the rest. There are a few pockets of us still around, and usually we are called old fashioned, hippies, or even rubes, because we are still willing to help out others in times of need. I still believe, despite having been burned time and again, that it is my duty to do so. Sadly, this is seldom, if ever, reciprocated. Sometimes people mistake my generosity for weakness, and when they try to take advantage of me, they are totally surprised to find themselves cut off. I think the rest have good intentions, but they weren't raised in that type of culture, and don't really comprehend that kind of a give and take relationship. The relationships I do have like that are all with people who were raised in a similar culture, and understand it on a subconscious level. These really and truly are the friends that you can call at 3 in the morning, and they will be there. There was a time when people had large family/tribe units to rely on, but most times that is no longer the case. People are roaming further from their families following jobs, college, romance, and are not returning to the familial areas like they used to, so those connections are being lost, and we are having to wade through a sea of posers to find those like ourselves, to create our intentional family, the people we can rely on to have our backs in times of need. Sad that this is no longer the norm in our society, but looked upon as a colloquialism, a throw back, old fashioned.
A Theory
7 years ago
