One of my favorite things in the world is listening to my dad talk about his past.
At 90+ years old, he has a lot of past to talk about.
When he tells his stories, I feel like I’m stepping into another world—one that looks nothing like the one we live in today.
A Boy From Sicily
My dad was born in the small town of Calascibetta, Sicily—a stunning ancient town with panoramic views that look like something straight out of a postcard.
History doesn’t sit in books there. It surrounds you. Stone streets wind through the town. Old churches stand where they have stood for centuries. The hills overlook landscapes that have watched generations live, struggle, and move on.
My father entered a world that feels almost unimaginable now.
Children ran freely through the streets without constant worry. Families grew and prepared their own food. Nobody stared at phones because phones as we know them didn’t exist. Life moved to the rhythm of church bells, hard work, fresh air, and family.
A Complicated Love Story
My grandparents entered marriage through arrangement, not romance.
My grandmother actually loved another man. Her brothers forbade the relationship and forced her into marriage with my grandfather instead. The man she loved never married anyone else.
Not every love story gets a happy ending. Life in those days rarely allowed room for romantic dreams.
My grandfather built his life through relentless work. Long before anyone used the word entrepreneur, he ran businesses and often traveled to America for work.
His absence left my grandmother and father alone much of the time.
War Changes Everything
Then World War II arrived.
Suddenly my grandmother and father truly stood alone.
They faced the war. They faced hunger. And they faced the Nazis.
Their home in Calascibetta sat on land that offered military advantage because of its elevation and panoramic views. Authorities forced them out. My grandmother and father retreated to the countryside and built a fragile life there, surviving however they could.
The Seamstress Who Saved Their Lives
My grandmother possessed extraordinary skill as a seamstress.
She spent exactly one day in school before telling her father she didn’t like it. Instead of arguing, he apprenticed her to a seamstress.
That decision saved their lives years later.
She sewed constantly—dresses for wealthy women, linens for the church, anything that would bring a little money or food. Her hands kept my father alive when times grew desperate.
But her lack of education created other problems.
Passport officials repeatedly demanded extra payments to process paperwork for her and my father to leave Sicily and join my grandfather in America. Those delays trapped them in Sicily during the war.
A Mother’s Fierce Protection
When they finally secured passage to America, my grandmother faced another obstacle.
The ship separated men and women.
My grandmother refused to let her only child out of her sight.
She hid my father—then a preteen—among the women on the boat and kept him there for the entire journey. Rules didn’t matter. Her job was protecting her son.
And she did.
The Man Those Years Created
Those early years shaped my father forever.
Even now, the habits remain.
He walks everywhere—because as a boy he ran everywhere.
He eats whatever sits on the table—because he remembers real hunger.
He speaks about his mother with deep love and respect for the woman who protected him during a war.
Sometimes he tears up when he remembers those years.
And through everything, he loves his family fiercely and holds tightly to the faith that carried him through darkness.
The Secret to Living a Long Life
At 92 years old, my father believes he has discovered the secret to longevity.
According to him, the formula is simple:
Walk every day.
Drink an espresso every morning.
Enjoy a glass of wine whenever possible.
And always practice moderation.
He delivers this advice with the authority of someone presenting peer-reviewed research.
Honestly, I’m inclined to believe him.
The War Never Fully Leaves
After my mother passed away, I discovered a note my father had written to her just ten years after World War II ended.
That note made me think deeply about the life they built together.
As a first-generation American, I grew up hearing how the war affected America.
My father experienced the war from the other side.
He ran for shelter during bombings. He sat inside bomb shelters. When the attacks of 9/11 happened, those memories resurfaced immediately.
War leaves marks that never fully disappear.
Why I Keep Listening
My father sometimes repeats the same stories.
And I listen every time.
Because his generation survived things most of us will never experience.
Because those voices are slowly fading.
Because every retelling reveals a new detail—a new lesson—a new piece of wisdom.
I ask endless questions. I try to picture his childhood in Sicily and the enormous transition he faced when he came to America, a country he never wanted to leave his homeland for.
Yet over the years he has traveled across the United States and learned to appreciate its beauty.
America is young compared to Sicily.
But beauty still lives here.
Why These Stories Matter
It breaks my heart when younger generations dismiss the stories of their grandparents.
My parents’ generation lived through survival.
Innovation came from necessity, not comfort. Their lives revolved around sacrifice, family, faith, and endurance.
There was no self-care culture.
No “cozy evenings.”
No “me time.”
People did what needed to be done because survival required it.
That is why listening matters.
Even when the stories repeat.
Each telling passes another piece of wisdom to the next generation.
We must teach our children to listen too.
Put the phones down. Step away from the noise. Sit at the feet of this precious generation.
They won’t be here forever.
But the lessons they leave behind can be. ❤️
