Patricia L. Mitchell - A Girl from the Hill: My Mothers Journey from Italian Girl to American Woman

A Girl from
the Hill

My Mothers Journey from Italian
Girl to American Woman

Patricia L. Mitchell

Copyright 2013 Patricia L. Mitchell.

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ISBN: 978-1-4525-6944-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4525-6946-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4525-6945-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013903662

Balboa Press rev. date: 6/27/2013

Table of Contents

This book was written for Dahlia and Alphonse, with love and appreciation.

And for Zingarella Lee Mitchell (10/27/1995 9/20/2012). I will always miss waking up with your head on my shoulder and your purring in my ear.

A Girl from the Hill would never have happened without help and support from so many kind, generous people. My eternal gratitude goes out to so many. My friend Lisa Barnstein and my mother-in-law Judy Mitchell worked both diligently and kindly to edit the manuscript. Genealogist and friend Barbara Carroll helped me figure out where the Fiores came from. Book Coach Lisa Tenor inspired and supported me throughout the writing and publishing process. My sisters, Maree OBrien and Donna Carnevale, helped me gain clarity and graciously supported me. Actually I am blessed all around when it comes to family and friends I could not ask for a more amazing and supporting group. And then theres my husband Jeremy. He quietly stands by my side and allows me to be who I am meant to be. My daughter Julia knows more at 12 about how to be a good daughter than I probably ever will. And Balboa Press has allowed me to live my dream of becoming a published author. With a grateful heart I thank you all.

Al and Dale on their honeymoon in New York in 1946. Ironically, my mother never learned to drive a real car.

I ve traveled intense but interesting roads these past two years, trying to understand my mothers life, and our connection as mother and daughter. My family enjoys our privacy, our low, ordinary profiles as working class, mostly blue-collar New Englanders. However, somehow sharing my findings with the world, so to speak, brings a glow of pride to my very being. And I want to see my mothers light shine too, because though ordinary, we are still special, unique and connected with the rest of the world.

I started this journey by helping her write down some of her memories. And then we began to talk, to share and to connect. What Ive ended up with is a chronicle of her life through a series of essays that I hope speak to her essence as a daughter, a wife, a mother, and the woman she has become over the past 88 years.

I must stress that these stories are based on my mothers recollections, adapted by me to form the essays included in this book. They are based on her memories, memories not intended to malign, insult, or otherwise be used in a negative context. Neither are they intended for historical research. The exception here is the genealogical information gathered about my familys emigration to the United States, Ellis Island and Rhode Island specifically. All genealogical information has been thoroughly researched and validated using appropriate birth and death certificates, census information, ship manifests and other certified data.

My mother has lived a full life, and in no way have I captured it all here. This book includes some of the highlights, as well as some of the low points, as I struggled to try and figure her out. Shes not as easy as she appears. No one really is. And I have tried to find our connection, beyond just the umbilical cord and blood that binds us. There have been days, years when I have felt so removed and distant from her, and other times, like when I was a small child, and now, where I feel like we are different versions of the same person.

A big part of being my mother includes being an Italian American. She was born to Italian parents who came to Ellis Island in the late 19 th and early 20 th Centuries, settling in Rhode Island during a time when it was brimming with Italian immigrants. The Italian culture, both classical and pedestrian, remains strong and nearly inescapable in this little state to this day. In a wonderful way, of course, as if finding you are surrounded by loyal and trustworthy friends.

The man my mother married, my father, is also Italian American, born to Italian American parents. His grandparents arrived here in the 19 th century, making my father a second generation American. But despite the differences in looks and demeanor, you could probably pave a path between their villages in Italy.

Piecing together my mothers genealogy, from San Giovanni Incarico, Italy to first Burrillville, then Providence, Rhode Island could probably result in a different book all together. But, so that you can keep the family straight, its important to note that my mother had four brothers, Joseph, Constantino, Rinaldo and Roland, and three sisters, Philomena, Assunta, and Alicia.

In order to better understand my Italian American familys roots, and the stories that follow, Ive provided a basic family tree depicting most of the main characters in my mothers life. My hope is you are provided with some guidance as you read on.

S itting with my mother for the first time to listen formally to her stories and recollections, I held some obvious and unimaginative pre-conceptions. Whether they came from reminiscing whimsically about the good old days, or comparing notes with her brothers and sisters when they all were alive, her stories are not totally unfamiliar. I didnt expect to be shocked or impressed. This will be easy. How deep could she be, really? I was so wrong.

Her life in the early to mid 20 th century differs from mine now in the 21 st. But one thing remains constant. Becoming a woman in any age challenges us to either stand up or sit down, to be heard or be stifled. My mother did both, by choice sometimes, but other times because Thats the way it was. I am so fortunate to become a wife and mother in this age versus hers. The path to discover ones identity is rarely an easy one. I am grateful to have her lessons to guide meeven now as I sit at the top of the fence, or the hill, unwilling as any woman to climb over to the other side.