grandparents
Becoming a grandparent makes getting older something to look forward to - all the fun of parenting, without the hassle.
Part I : Ada Monetti looks back on her Life
Ada Monetti was born on East 55th Street in Manhattan. Her father went to work everyday at Giovanni’s, and her mother and grandmother did the domestics before the family moved to the Bronx in 1941. But prior to departing, Ada did leave her mark on the Catholic School she attended.
By Rich Monetti6 years ago in Families
More Stories from the Old Country
Luigi and Maria Ancora emmigrate to Argentina In 1924, the Ancora family was finally ready to rejoin Belasario in America. But some bureaucratic corruption prevented Nonni's brother and sister from making the journey to America. A rich family bribed an official in the office, and Luigi and Maria's Visa papers were stolen. So the family was presented with their only option. Nonni and her Grandmother sailed to America, while Luigi and Maria embarked for Argentina.
By Rich Monetti6 years ago in Families
Ada Monetti Remembers her Father
Nonno was a gentle, loving father, according to his daughter Ada Monetti. However, he did set limits and enforced boundaries. “I got spanked,” Ada said. “I was stubborn” But any chance of lingering feelings always reverted back to Angelo Cafueri’s fatherly baseline.
By Rich Monetti6 years ago in Families
My Great Grandmother Held her Own
Carmela Ancora grew up in Franca Villa, and her grandmother owning a successful business, the family had an upperclass lifestyle. So Carmela graduated from High School and played the piano. Carmela married Belasario Ancora in 1885 at the age of 16 and had seven children. But while circumstances bigger than the family led to a life of seperation for the three surviving Ancora children, my great grandmother lived a rich fulfilling life
By Rich Monetti6 years ago in Families
My Grandfather’s Depth of Feeling made a Life for his Whole Family
In the first 18 months of my life, My Nonno was a constant presence. However, he would leave for an extended return to Italy with my grandmother in 1966. The departure must have left a pretty big void. The year and a half absence had to have been long forgotten by the time he came back, though. The assumption - it turns out - is glaringly incorrect.
By Rich Monetti6 years ago in Families
I am because she was.
There's a photo of my great-grandmother; she is standing with her sister and sister in law with the biggest smile on her face. It is my favorite photo of her. She is in her twenties with her two best friends, my Aunt Nunnie her sister, and my Aunt Willa Mae, who would eventually become her sister in law. I love this photo because it is rare. It is unique because I am seeing her before she was a wife; before she was a mother, a grandmother, and great-grandmother. I'm seeing her as just Mary, a woman in her twenties dreaming of something more. I had seen this photo many times before. It had a place in all of the homes she lived in until her death. But it wasn't until after she died that I understood the depth of this photo. I realized that I only knew one part of her life and story. That I only knew her for a brief period of her life. But that short period profoundly impacts my life.
By Amber Shephard6 years ago in Families
Fortiér Fortitude
Spring 1995 – Emil Villa’s Hickory Pit – Oakland, California. Lillian had just waved her waiter away for the third time. They had been seated for almost half an hour and still had not ordered. Lillian, known to her family as Dear, did not appreciate being or feeling rushed.
By Y. Fortier-Bourne6 years ago in Families
Gommie
Gommie sits in her pink smock dress with her elbows resting upon the plastic Gerbera tablecloth. The early morning rays dance their way into the sunroom and she is laughing. There is half eaten toast, with far too much butter on it, real orange juice and music, always music. Now that I think about it, this memory seems distant, but it’s always one I go back to, or rather comes back to me.
By Hannah Clark6 years ago in Families
The Little Girl in the Photograph Who Inspires Me
German, like the language. First name Yolanda. Descendant of my divine feminine ancestors. My grandmother, whom I like to call “grams.” This is the woman who inspires me. When I was 5 years old, I saw an old photograph of five kids on a farm. I took a closer look and in it, I saw a little girl who was about the same age as me at the time. Confused and a little dumbfounded, I opened my mouth and started to say “How am I in this picture? I don’t know any of those kids and I don’t remember this either.” The little girl in the photograph looked exactly like me – she was my doppelgänger, if you will.
By Emily Viera6 years ago in Families
