I recently experienced the passing of a close family member, and, as such occurrence typically does, it brought together a multitude of distant relatives. They spanned from the ages of 14 to maybe late 80s, and they all claimed to somehow be my cousin. And, even stranger, they all seemed to know who I was despite me not having an inkling as to who they were. But, they definitely were my relatives. If the slight resemblances didn’t give it away, the sprinklings of curly hair certainly did, and if I don’t have their amazing skin when I’m 70, I’m rioting.
If you’ve ever seen “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” you’ll know the scene where the father, Gus, is introducing their extended family and everyone is named “Anita, Diane, and Nick” followed by a series of everyone else being named Nick. That’s pretty much how I felt except everyone was named Joe, even my own dad. I learned after a while that if I just called someone “Joe” or “Victoria,” I was most likely guessing the right name. I certainly tried remembering everyone’s name, but after I had been kissed by the 40th consecutive person, my brain gave up on memorizing everyone and their relation.
Typically funerals are solemn events, and it was so, but there were a surprising amount of jokes being cracked. It was almost a constant flip-flop between everyone crying during a prayer to people making fun of each other and laughing hysterically. This being my first funeral that I’ve ever attended, made it a lot easier to both mourn as well as start to move on.
I have never been kissed more times consecutively in my life than I was when I was with my family. A kiss on both cheeks is apparently both the customary greeting and goodbye. I have to say that I was apprehensive at first, but quickly became accustomed simply because I didn’t have a choice. Italian people, I’ve discovered, are very affectionate and very emotional, only one of which I inherited and you can guess which one.
The best part, I think, about having a huge Italian family is everyone has the same opinions on food and whatever they make for you is guaranteed to be amazing. After the funeral, we all had an early dinner at an Italian restaurant (where else?) that my dad used to work at when he was a teenager. Not only did we eat probably three meals each, but everyone was talking loudly and commenting on everything they ate as they did it, pushing their plates in front of the people next to them and insisting that they try some.
My aunt used to be a chef at an Italian restaurant, and I look forward to the day that she teaches me some of her recipes. My dad is probably one of the best cooks ever; he could literally make a cheese sandwich and people would be raving about it. My family refuses to eat at chain Italian restaurants (Olive Garden isn’t as good as you think it is, I promise) and we are really picky about the pizza we get especially since both of my parents grew up in close proximity to New York City.
So, while it was unfortunate circumstances that brought us all together, I am so grateful that I got to discover so much more of my dad’s side of the family. I can also safely say that I’m going to have a rather large guest list at my future wedding, and the food is going to be insanely good.