It had been a while, 3 years to be exact, since my husband and I had made the trip into Pittsburgh for my grandmother’s mother’s Pernatozzi family reunion picnic. And yes, I said my grandmother’s mother’s side of the family; they’re 100% Italian, so to them the bonds of family, no matter how extended, seem to surpass time it-self. My father, (the Italian one of course), always emphasized the importance of family, no matter how distantly related; this taught me to treat everyone I met like a family member. Now, since I had not been to the picnic for a grand total of 3 years, (considered to be eons for the Pernatozzi side), it was ‘highly recommended’ that I make this trip. Italians can be so persistent! As my husband, 3 year-old toddler, and I drove in late on a Saturday night to attend the picnic, I wondered whether it was worth the extra effort. My answer was about to come.
When we approached the park site, a plethora of images ran through my head: I saw my Uncle Kevin leading the kid’s games like the egg toss or three-legged race. I saw the men gathered in a circle making gestures with their hands as they shouted out strange words like ‘due’ and ‘otto.’ I imagined my Grandmother and her sister swaying and singing along to Italian song, Funiculi Funicula. I envisioned figures in the distance tossing red and green balls toward a fixed target. And I could almost smell the sweet savory scent of smoked sausages through the intense summer heat.
We finally reach the picnic, and it’s as if no time has passed. There is still a spread of Italian sausage, fried eggplant, cheese, fruit and some American fare on the tables. There are still men within a circle playing the Italian hand game of morra. The competitive bocce game remains as distant cousins play games of horseshoe nearby. Dynamic would be far too temperate a word to describe the energy of the day; it was an explosive event full of life and energy. And that’s what I love about the Italian part of my family; they constantly remind me to live life to the fullest, although I think Laura Pausini sings it best in Andrea Bocelli’s song, Vivere,
“Try looking at tomorrow, not yesterday, and all the things you left behind. Oh those tender words you did not say, the gentle touch you couldn’t find. In these days of nameless faces, there’s no one truth, but only pieces. My life is all I have to give. Dare to live, until the very last. Dare to live, forget about the past. Dare to live, giving of your-self to others, even when it seems there’s nothing more left to give.”
I hope we can all ‘dare to live.’