My great-uncle John Picciano died last week at the remarkable age of 97. He was the last survivor of my great-grandparents’ 13 children, all of whom were the first generation of my family to be born in America. This weekend we gathered from all over the country to not only grieve his passing but to also honor his wonderful life.
More about my family below:
My great-grandparents came to this country from Italy in the 1880s. They settled in Little Italy in Manhattan more than likely because it was familiar – the language, food and culture of home. My great-grandfather moved the family to the Binghamton, New York area because he didn’t like the “toughs” his older sons were hanging out with in the City. My great-grandfather worked in the shoe factory and several of his sons worked on the railroad side-by-side with immigrants from Poland, Germany, Ireland and Russia.
My great-uncle’s oldest brother, Michael was the first member of the family to enlist in the military, joining the Navy during World War I. He died when his ship was torpedoed by a U-Boat and sank off the coast of France. Uncle John was only six-months-old when his oldest brother died. My grandparents suffered the loss of their son while they were still citizens of Italy.
Because he was the youngest of his parents’ children, Uncle John’s older brothers and sisters were old enough to be his parents. So he was my mother’s contemporary, growing up during the depression. When World War II broke out, he and his brothers, cousins, nephews and nieces joined all branches of the military and were scattered over the globe fighting (or tending the wounded) on all fronts. This first-generation Italian family that had experienced discrimination, none-the-less fought for their country and were every bit as American the children of immigrants from other countries and those whose families had been here for generations.
The older members of that first generation primarily married other Italian-Americans. But Uncle John married an Irish-American woman whose roots went back to the Revolutionary War. The family still talks about how crushed her friends were that she “married an Eye-talian.” But the next generation really didn’t think too much about the national origins of their great-grandparents when choosing spouses. Nor did the next.
As the extended family gathered to grieve and celebrate my uncle’s life, I had the chance to meet some family members I rarely see. I had the opportunity to speak with them and their children. As I looked at the faces of my extended family, it hit me – we represent not just one ethnic group as we did when my great uncle was born – almost 100 years later we represent America.
We represent America in my children, whose father’s family goes back to the earliest Dutch settlers in the Albany, NY area. We represent America in my brother’s family, whose children’s grandparents on their mother's side were Holocaust survivors.
We represent the many faiths of America - from staunch Roman Catholics, the religion of my great grandparents - to Muslims, Protestants, Wiccans, Atheists and Buddhists.
We represent the wide range of political beliefs in our country, from my far-right leaning Korean War Veteran uncle, to many main-stream Republican cousins, to FDR Democrats like my 91-year-old mother and Progressives like me and a large group of cousins.
And Uncle John’s children are a kaleidoscope of diversity – his oldest son is gay, his younger son's child is half Peruvian, his older daughter is a staunch Roman Catholic who almost became a nun and his younger daughter married a African-American with some Native American thrown in and they are raising their three children in the Muslim faith. Uncle John and his wife Margaret, although themselves devote Roman Catholics, loved and accepted each and every change their children brought to the family.
In the life-time of one man - my Uncle John - my family has become the melting pot that is America.
And it makes me proud and happy that we celebrate that as much as we celebrated Uncle John’s remarkable life.