On Writing, From Anna Quindlen

Here's words of wisdom I read in today's Parade magazine. It's from the writer Anna Quindlen and was taken from Parade's "Sunday With..." column.

Here's how Anna responds to the question: Do you ever have writer's block?

"Some days I fear writing dreadfully, but I do it anyway. I've discovered that sometimes writing badly can eventually lead to something better. Not writing at all leads to nothing."

A Family Photo

A few weeks ago my oldest sister gave me a copy of a photo taken in the late 1920s.

My Mom is in the center of the photo, about four years old. Her two brothers are on either side of her. In the back are my Grandma and Grandpa.

They are both smiling. My Grandpa, especially, seems very happy. He's got a big grin on his face. His straw hat is tipped to one side, giving him an almost debonair look. And his arms are spread out, akimbo style, giving him a sense of pride in his family.

My Mom looks like she's leaning into her Dad, with both her hands in back of her. Maybe a bit shy that day, not used to having her picture taken? (In those days I'm not sure how many families had a camera). And her face looks like she's thinking about smiling, but hasn't gotten there yet (again the possibility of shyness comes through). Ironically, my Mom was not a shy person and you'd be hard pressed to find another photo of her where she doesn't have a smile on her face.

At any rate, of everyone in the picture, my Grandpa, by far, seems to be the happiest. I'm guessing it was a workday, because he and his boys are dressed in overalls. It was definitely into the growing season, because a tree in back of them is fully leafed out and the grass under their feet is green (or would have been if the picture were in color).

I'm also guessing that the picture was taken before the summer heat of southern Illinois kicked in because they are wearing layers of clothing. (In the summer the heat doesn't really leave the earth there, and mornings can be very warm and muggy, sapping the energy right out of you by mid-day, and none of the family seems to in the least bit tired).

My two uncles don't especially appear to be happy. Maybe they are thinking of the farm chores they would shortly be doing, or the game they were playing, before the minor distraction of having their picture taken?

I would love to ask my Grandpa: Why were you so happy that day? What were you thinking of? What caused such a carefree look on the face of someone who farmed, making his living with so much uncertainty?

When I see him in heaven, I think I'll ask.

Happy Birthday Dad

Today would have been my Dad's 96th birthday.

He was born in 1918 and lived 12 years into the 21st Century, passing into eternity in 2012.

Dad was first-generation in the United States, with both parents coming from Sicily. He grew up in a household where Italian was the primary language spoken. From the very beginning he was immersed in two cultures - going to public school where he learned English and the American culture; while having strong roots to the "old country" within his own home, and neighborhood. My grandparents lived in a section of a New Jersey town that was heavily Sicilian.

He was less than a stone's throw away from an Italian baker, and an Italian grocer. His friends were mostly kids of Italian parents who had very recently gone through Ellis Island, which was a tipping point for one of the biggest migrations in human history.

When I moved to New York City as a young adult, one of the first things I did was take the Number One IRT subway to its downtown terminal stop at Battery Park. I got out and took the ferry to Ellis Island. Back then (this was in the mid 1970s) the Island was in a state of disrepair. It was mostly abandoned but you could still walk through some of it under the watchful eye of a park ranger.

I count myself fortunate to have experienced Ellis Island in that state because it made the whole experience very surreal. I remember walking into the Great Hall and looking up at what seemed like a mountainous series of steps. It wasn't too difficult to imagine what my own Grandfather must have felt, decades before, getting off the boat, full of hope yet full of anxiety. The park ranger explained that those steps, along with everything else on the Island, had been built for a reason.

Back when tens of thousands of immigrants came through Ellis Island daily, there would have been doctors stationed at the top of those stairs, carefully looking at each person as they walked up. If a person was slow, or stopped along the way, or got to the top and was breathless, they were marked with a "L" for "lungs" with chalk on the back of their coat, indicating the possibility of an infectious respiratory disease, which would be grounds for quarantine and possibly being sent back to their home country.

Such tests were crude, but they were necessary when there were so many people speaking different languages and of different cultures going through the immigration process, with 99 percent of them not knowing English. Hence they couldn't respond to any questions asked during a typical physical exam.

So my Grandfather went through Ellis Island and passed. So did my Grandmother, a few years later. Eventually my Dad was born into a family that already had a few kids ahead of him.

My Dad, as many children of immigrants, was exceptionally smart and practical. Among the things I  inherited from my Dad were:
. an appreciation for education
. an appreciation for following current events
. a respect for the institution of journalism, as the guardian of truth
. a deep sense of humor
. an appreciation for the ironies of life
. a natural empathy for the "underdog"
. a love for social justice

Dad, on your Birthday, I want to say "thank you." I am truly grateful to be one of your children and to have had you as my Dad.