Ah, February. Love. Romance. Engagement rings. Wedding plans. And all that good stuff. Speaking of which, I want to share two stories of how I came to be, the tales of my grandparents’ and my parents’ romances that, to this day, I continue to revel in the retelling. See what you think.
Duffle bag slung over one muscled shoulder, the tall dark-haired sailor whistled as he swaggered up the narrow cobbled streets of the little port town of Milazzo, Sicily. Angelo Famularo, 26 years old, hadn’t seen land in three months, and it was a welcome sight on this sparkling April day 100 years ago. He was headed for the Ristorante Lipari, which bore the name of his home island in the Tyrrhenian Sea. He could already taste the wine.
He stopped for a moment to count the coins in his leather pouch, and as he did, he felt someone’s eyes upon him. He looked up. What he saw in that moment changed his life forever.
For there was what could only be an angel, eyes as black as olives and as big as the largest coin in his hand, gazing down at him from a second-story window. She smiled, and showed the reddest lips, the whitest teeth and the most enchanting dimples this strutting man of the world had ever seen.
Suddenly Angelo forgot he was thirsty. He pocketed his coins, strode to the white-washed door of the angel’s simple stucco dwelling, and knocked.
She, however, did not come to the door. Her father did. Her stern, mustachioed, frowning father. “What do you want?” he barked at Angelo.
“I - I - I ask permission to court your daughter,” Angelo stammered.
"Rosina is promised!” he snapped, slamming the door. And then his angel disappeared from the window.
Well, I’m here to tell you that somehow Angelo and Rosina found a way to see each other, and within weeks, they’d decided to marry. One problem. Rosina would have to leave Sicily forever. Her parents would disown her for this shameful act, running off with Angelo when she was promised to that bad-tempered Luca down the street.
So off they ran, not to the United States, but to Toronto, Canada, where they immediately began producing babies. They made 10 boys and one girl before they called it a family. My father was the last.
When Dad was about six, his parents decided to move to America. After most of the family had traveled over the bridge from Windsor, Ontario, to Detroit, Grandpa packed the last three of his brood in the car, and my Dad, the smallest, was stuffed in the trunk to save Grandpa some money. Dad arrived in what would be home for most of his life hot, tired, and hungry. He just wanted some cold water, a big bowl of his mother’s garlicky pasta, and a soft bed. The last thing on his mind was who HE might run away with someday.
It’s 12 years later. Her name is Pauline Blessing. She’s 18, petite and pert and pretty, and she’d been in love with that handsome, skinny, smart, and charming Julio Famularo since sixth grade. What she didn’t know is that he loved her, too. He just hated all that competition swarming around her all the time.
How could she get his attention once and for all.
I know, she thought. We’re both invited to Elly’s party tonight. I’ll figure something out before it’s over.
The party was lively, and Pauline must have danced the Charleston with at least a dozen fawning young men. A few times she caught Julio’s brooding eyes on her, but he’d always glance away before she could flutter her eyelashes.
Now the party was breaking up and there was that pesky redhead in an orange (orange of all things, Pauline meowed to herself) fringed dress heading straight for Julio. Pauline made her move. “Julio,” she asked, “I don’t seem to have a way home. Would you take me—please?”
There were only three blocks between Elly’s house and hers so Pauline knew she had to work fast. Julio was so serious, so intent on driving.
“This is a nice car, Julio,” she purred. It was indeed a beauty, a brand new maroon roadster polished to a beetle-like finish, a graduation gift from his parents.
Julio kept his eyes on the road and nodded.
“Have you ever had ignition trouble?” she asked. He shook his head. “Never.”
When they came to a stop sign, she reached over and removed the ignition keys. “Well,” she said holding them behind her back, “you have now.”
What happened next sealed their fate forever, and had no little impact on my life as well.
“I won’t give them back until you kiss me,“ she said.
So he did.
Within the year they, too, ran off to be married.
Twenty-one years later, I left home to marry MY Italian suitor. Running off seems to be in our family’s genes. But it sure saves money on wedding dresses.
