The Italian Mother

I am Italian. My parents are first generation Italian-Canadian immigrants. They are proud to be Canadian but they are also proud to be Italian, proud of the heritage, proud of their family, and ultimately proud of their homeland, the motherland. They should be proud, period.

I also married an Italian man. Along with my Italian husband came a large Italian family. Lucky, hey? Actually, I am. Growing up, there were five of us, my parents, myself, and two brothers. My parents left everything back home in the “old country”, including the relatives. I admire them for leaving everything to take a risk such as that just for our future, their children’s future (despite the dang cold weather we have here, really dad, what were you thinking? You lived in the Mediterranean?!).

Along with this sacrifice came the lack of big family dinners, lots of aunts and uncles, more cousins than you can count, and of course, a Nonna (grandmother). Nonna is the hierarchy of the Italian family. Oh, I know you have heard the Italian man is the head of the household, the king of the castle, the Godfather, blah, blah, blah. Try to tell Nonna that. In reality, as I quickly learned through the courting years with my husband, the Nonna is the supreme leader of any Italian household.

Funny though that the typical North American woman has always felt that only here in the free country will a woman be considered an equal to a man or perhaps even superior. Not so, in an Italian family, the woman is the ruler. Outwardly, you would not think so and it would never be publicly displayed because, really, what would the neighbours think? But, if Pappa made the wrong decision while at an outing together you would be sure that Mamma would be pulling his ear when they got home and telling him how things will be and the next day Mamma would get her way of course, all the while convincing everyone that it was Pappa’s idea. The only one that can change Mamma’s mind is Nonna. If Nonna said it was so, then so it was, no one questioned, and no one went against her wishes. Her importance in my husband’s family was so vital that upon her passing the togetherness and closeness was never the same. Perhaps, it had now been handed down to the Nonnas next in line (our generation’s mothers) that now each family had its own tightness. Or perhaps the family just got too big and family get-togethers became too difficult, whatever it was it was never the same without Nonna.

Having seen this first hand at many a family gathering with my husband’s family, I began to question and observe what was really happening in our house. Was Dad really in charge as I had thought all these years? I would watch and I would listen. My mother always seemed as thought she respected my father’s words and decisions with such high regard and to this day I don’t doubt at all that she did but somehow I could see she really did have and still has something else. She has meaning and conviction. She believes in the family, the strength of its closeness, the importance of its love. Perhaps there was so much more to her words, “Your father thinks…”.

The Italian woman holds her head up high. She walks with honour. Her husband also walks with his head high and with honour for he has a strong wife, and she tells him “Stand up straight and be proud!” And he listens.