My dad's family is Italian. I read the story in The Joy of Growing Up Italian and was reminded of the times we would visit my dad's family in Leetonia, Ohio, part of what is now considered the rust belt. Just about everyone there worked in the steel mills. I can still remember the smell as we would pass the mills on the way to my grandmother's house. It was sort of a rancid burning sulfur smell. You tried to hold your breath, but dad would drive slow and make us roll down the windows. He called Leetonia "Gods Country" everytime we passed the sign on the way into town.

Like this man's family, my dad's family took in boarders to help make ends meet. They lived in a two story building in the middle of town across from the railroad tracks. My grandmother ran a restaurant on the first floor of the house and the entire family and boarders lived upstairs. They didn't have much money, but they took a boy in who was beaten and thrown out of his own house by his father. He lived with my dad's family until he graduated from high school, and to this day, my dad considers him family. I always thought he was one of my uncles-- Uncle Pauly.

The food is one of the things I really miss. This year I talked my wife into letting me cook Christmas Eve dinner for her family. We browned fresh garlic in olive oil and tossed it with macaroni and salt, we had fish and shrimp, meatballs, black olives, fresh salad, red wine, and pizzelles for desert.

I was a little nervous about whether my wife's family would like the food, but they seemed to enjoy it. I hope to do dinner Italian-style again next Chrismas Eve. Maybe my kids will remember these times when they grow up. I hope they do. And I hope they are able to pass on a little Italian to their children.

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