My Not So Italian, Italian Mother by marisa

My Not So Italian, Italian Mother by marisa - November 2019 Scholarship Essay

I sat patiently at the kitchen table for my mom to finish cooking dinner. The table was old, but not that old, filled with scratches and memories. Little specks of glitter still lay stuck to the softened wood from when my 5-year-old self decided to give my Barbie a makeover. Small holes of bare wood, the victims of hot coffee cups and pasta bowls, lay scattered around the top. This was the table my family ate dinner at every night and we loved it.

Eager to begin, I called to my mom, "Are you ready to start?" She sat down opposite of me and continued to fold laundry. A slight breeze came in from the back door, open solely for the purpose of de-smoking the house. The result of my mom's attempt to cook zucchini in the oven. I asked, "What is your best memory from your childhood and why?". She was quick to answer, "Christmas, which your grandparents hosted every year for as far back as I can remember. In December 2001, Dad and I bought this house and hosted our first Christmas. It was really about continuing the family tradition my parents had instilled in me".

My mom comes from a big Italian family, something that she has always cherished. Since my birth, we have always hosted Christmas and with that comes tortellini day; a day-long extravaganza of pasta making, cooking, and eating.

My mom was 1 of 4 children born to hard-working, Italian immigrants. Her biggest takeaway from them was if you want to accomplish a goal, you set yourself on that path and keep going.

She had gotten up for a second to check on the fish broiling in the oven. "Um excuse me, ma'am, this is a professional interview. I need your undivided attention", I insisted as she turned to give me the face. Trust me when I say, the face is scary. That is, in fact, one of the characteristics my mom inherited from her Italian lineage, although cooking was not.

I proceeded with our interview: "What is your favorite place you have traveled to? Why?" Faster than I could finish my question she answered, "Italy, because my parents worked so hard to be able to pay for us to travel back there multiple times ... and over the years that has allowed us to solidify our relationships with family over seas". We recently traveled to Italy and I was able to meet many of the family members and distant cousins that I had.

Our talk of Italy carried on for 10 minutes as we reminisced of the delicious food and jaw-dropping architecture each city held. We talked of a tall wooden cross that stood strong on top of a mountain. It faced an old Catholic church, overlooking a vast Tuscan landscape of mountains and grasslands. I had stood next to the cross, just as my mom once had as a young girl.

My mom listened attentively as I spoke of my love for Italy. "I want to study abroad there" I stated. She turned to me with a strange look on her face. I didn't quite understand her look, but my confusions were answered as she lifted up a black-cast iron skillet filled with burnt fish. "Looks like you didn't get your mother's Italian cooking genes," I laughed. Just as our laughter subdued, my dad walked in the door from the airport with a suitcase trailing behind. My brother came downstairs, followed by our dog, Louie. Each of us sat in our chairs around the dinner table just as we always had. It was important to my mom to have family dinner and keep that connection. The TV was clicked on and we proceeded to enjoy a delicious meal of smokey zucchini and crispy, blackened fish, all made by my wonderful Italian mother.