Hershey Bar Heritage

I was talking with a co-worker tonight about favorite family members and all the wonderful memories that surround them. As she reminisced over her grandfather, I started to think about my extended family members and I was flooded with the memories of my childhood, growing up with grandparents that came over on the boat from Italy.  They spoke very little English, and they found themselves a cultural equivalent of their background to supplant themselves.  They lived in the North End of Boston where all the Italian immigrants ended up.  Growing up in the suburbs, the North End was a fantastically different place to visit.  The whole adventure was my first introduction to city life and it was exciting and intimidating at the same time.  I can still recall, driving down the narrow streets, listening to the cacophony of horns as they honked to alarm all those that were double parked that their cars needed to be moved.  It amazed me that my parents could actually maneuver their giant car through the streets where there seemed barely room for a push cart never mind a vehicle.  When they finally parked we were on foot.  The odors of cooking food were predominant, some pleasant, others not.  Store fronts were filled with things I had never seen before, large slabs of meat, still in animal form hung in one window, while delicate pastries adorned the next.  Tenements all seemed to have rod iron fire escapes and the front stoops were often accompanied with chairs and large Italians wearing some form of black.  Conversations were foreign and frequently held with neighboring stoop sitters and distance was of no matter.  It wasn't unusual for a head to hang out of a window to add their piece to the conversation. It was vibrant and electric with a loud energy to match it's occupants. The culture was evident and this was an area where everyone knew when an outsider was present.  They looked out for each other as though the entire domain was their family's domain.

My grandparents ran a small coffee shop in the bottom floor of the tenement they lived in and I was never allowed in there.  Our entire family would walk up what seemed like ten flights of stairs (but was probably only four) and we'd arrive at their floor.  Their apartment was small, maybe 500 square feet.  There was one bathroom and three bedrooms, a kitchen and a living room and all the furniture and lamp shades were covered in plastic.  The carpeted living room had a plastic runner where the traffic pattern would have worn through, had it been allowed.  Add to this picture, a clothesline extending from one building to the next. Their clothes were hung outside in the back alley to air dry. They used the bathroom to hang up stockings to dry. The balcony was used to grow tomatoes, grapes, and herbs, all were used in daily cooking. My grandfather actually made his own wine from those grapes. It was a different way of life that seemed alien to me but it was a lesson in culture. It was an adventure I looked forward to because it was so vastly different from what I lived.

Upon entry, I was greeted with a two handed face grasp and immediately following, a double, bubble cheek pinch and a kiss. I dreaded the cheek pinch because it actually hurt, but I knew what the reward was and so I endured. The reward sat on top of the fridge and each of us was promptly given either a pack of gum or a chunk of a giant Hershey bar. I think these were two "treats" that my grandparents were proud they could offer us and so they did it every time we visited. Their conversations were solely in Italian, so I never really understood what they were saying, as such, I would sit and watch.  It always seemed like they were fighting, but I came to recognize this as a trait many Italians shared.  With their reactionary, passionate, gesturing they would add emphasis to their point.  They were excitable and dramatic with a large dose of humor. Family, food and conversation made them happy.  It seemed as though there was always some sort of loud discussion taking place, accompanied by tremendous amounts of food, all with intense flavors.  While the language barrier prevented me from being able to have a conversation with my grandparents, I could feel the love every time I entered their doorway and the Hershey bar just sweetened the deal.