Growing Up Italian- Life in our Neighbourhood

 Growing Up Italian

Life in our Neighbourhood

I was born and raised in a Northern Ontario city that started its beginnings in the 1880s as a transient camp for workers building the western expansion of the Canadian Pacific Railway. It was soon discovered that its land formation was rich in minerals, iron, nickel, copper and ore and overtime it became the hard rock mining company of the world. INCO took over the mines in 1928 and there was a need for workers. The city grew quickly and eagerly welcomed immigrants to work in the mines.  

Meanwhile Post WW11 Italy was in a state of  indescribable ruins, destruction, famish, no work or little hope. In 1953, after serving his obligatory military duties my father and some of his cousins made the voyage by sea to the "land of milk and honey."  He was 25 and was sponsored by my Godfather's father who had arrived pre war for work and when he was unable to return home, he began sponsoring many from his home town. My father arrived in Nova Scotia at the infamous Pier 21 and made the long trek by train up North. He spoke often of how he had very few possessions inside an old backpack. A few changes of clothes, a chunk of cheese and very little money. He struggled for several years with gaining employment, adjusting to a new country and not understanding the language. There were many times in those early years where he regretted his decision, was lonely and ready to go back home. He eventually gained employment as a miner. In 1957 he returned to Italy with the intention to marry. The story is that his brother in law knew of a young, beautiful woman whose father had a little road side bar so off they went. My mother was in the fields at that time and my father spoke to my Nonna and told her of his intentions. My Nonna called her over. She introduced them and told my mom that he would be interested in marrying her and taking her to Canada. My mother asked my Nonna what she wanted and she told her it would be her wish for her daughter to leave Italy and go where there would be a good life for her. My mother often has said she never really gave him a yes. It was just understood. Two weeks later they married and made their home in Canada. My dad returned first and my mother returned several months later. She arrived in Canada in 1958 on the famous ship Italia. You might find it strange to hear that they didn't know each other, but that was not uncommon. During these impoverished and frightening times, marriage was more often than not a security for their future. I am certain it helped that my father was a very handsome, older man whose presence in a room always made people stop and look. So that is  how my siblings and I came to be first generation Italian Canadian. 

We grew up in the West End of our city surrounded by black rocks perfect for climbing (due to chemical fall out from the mines) and wooded areas with lakes, streams and wildlife. We spent more time outside than indoors and there were many good memories of playing with neighourhood friends and relatives. As more and more Italians from various regions arrived, our neighbourhood and those surrounding ours began to thrive.  We always had someone to play with. We would call each other cousins and it didn't matter if they were or weren't because we were family. We played together as the adults visited. There was always someone popping in for a coffee or a glass of vino and there was always cards being played. There was drama as there always is when you put a group of Italians together. Lots of comparing gardens, swapping food ideas, arguing and just plain gossip. 

We all lived within walking distance of each other and attended the same schools. We would walk home together and play at each other's houses. My Godparents lived down the street and at the bottom of Park St. That is where a great deal of the action was and I would yell at my mom "Going down Park" and off I would go. We would all meet there and we would play hide and seek until it was late and my Godmother would yell "va casa"- go home! They had the perfect spot. Rocks right behind their houses and open spaces. If we weren't playing hide and seek with the fellow Italians we were playing soccer or hockey or just chatting. We were also fortunate to have two playgrounds/parks in the neighbourhood. In the summer they would have summer day camps filled with great activities for kids and in the winters they would have the best rinks for skating and hockey. They would have Winter Carnivals and how lucky we were to be able to go to two carnivals. I learned how to figure skate there and I remember presenting for the carnival. One year my brother who was about 13 at the time came running home to get my dad because he had won a TV. We couldn't believe it! That TV went downstairs and a little den for us evolved around that TV. There was a field by our house where all the soccer games were played and in the winter the track became a skating rink. We would spend all day and all night there until closing. Huge hills for tobogganing and so much fun. We had our first crushes and our first heart breaks at that field and on the streets where we played. 

My brother had a paper route and he would ask me to help him. On really icy days I would hang on to that bag and he would pull me down the sidewalk. I know he only wanted my help because he was afraid of the houses with dogs as those were the houses he made me deliver to! I was afraid as well but I still went because I knew that at the end of the week when he got paid we would walk to Gus's, the neighbourhood diner (that is still there). We would order french fries and gravy because they were the best I have ever had and we just didn't eat that at home and we would play music on the little table juke boxes. Our favourite song was "The World is White, The World is Black" by Three Dog Nights. We would pretend we were famous musicians and sing at the top of our lungs all the way home. We had two corner stores and my friends and I would run in to get their penny candies and their popsicles. We would hang around outside the store and talk and wait for other friends to join us.   

We knew each other, we would ride our bikes in the neighbourhood and we always saw somebody - young or old. They waved at us, spoke to us in Italian (even if I couldn't understand their dialect),offered us food and we felt safe. My brothers and the other boys would travel in packs through the neighbourhood and when they saw us they would torment us. Secretly we loved it (not all of it but some) because their friends were good looking!  We also knew that if we needed them, they were there. In fact, they scared off a few would be boyfriends of mine and I was not very impressed. 

We were fortunate enough to have the Italian Club within walking distance and they often held events for young people. Weddings were always a family event. The church had a very active youth group and we all would go to church on Sundays and special holidays. The church was a very crucial part of our neighbourhood. It was a social gathering place for all the youth. My best friend in high school was french and there was a french church just down the street but she would come with me to ours because that is where all the young people were. We  would go to the youth events and dances and flirt with the boys and they would flirt with us. 

My best memories are of Sundays in the summertime. We had many lakes around us and on Sundays we would pack up the car and we would spend the day "al lago". My mother would begin preparing for this the day before. She made lasagna and salad and panini and everything else we needed to spend the entire day outside.  I would wake up early every Sunday morning, jump out of bed and look out my window. I would pray for sunshine. My dad was already in the garden smoking his cigarette and looking at the sky. Then he would come inside and the phone calls would start. I would listen waiting to hear the words "va bene, andiamo"- it's ok, let's go. I was elated because I knew it would be a good day filled with food, swimming and laughing. On the very rare occasion my dad would stop at the KFC on the way there and pick up a barrel of chicken. We would be so excited when that happened as fast food and eating out were unheard of for us. We had our routine, we went to the same area and we set up our tables. On a good day, when everyone attended, there would be at least 25-30 of us. What wonderful memories. We would play all day long in and out of the water. I learned to swim in the middle of that lake. My dad was a strong swimmer and he loved the water. One day when I was about 7, I rode on his back and he swam far from shore. Then he let me go and it really was "sink or swim".  I was not scared but excited because he was there with me. We would spend all day there  until the sun began to set. We would all leave together in a parade of cars and as we drove home we would always try to catch the attention of our cousins in the other cars. I would return home sunburned and tired. I remember drifting off to sleep but feeling like I was still swimming and I was smiling. 

It was community and we were incredibly fortunate to have it. 

Naturally, as we got older our circles began to expand and high school brought new friends and new experiences. Yet, we were still connected to the people in our community. No matter where our education and jobs were taking us, holidays always brought us back. I couldn't wait to return at Christmas to spend time and celebrate with my friends from the West End. Of course, the type of celebrations and festivities changed but oh the memories we made! Some of us still keep connected  whether through social media or other means. It may be a simple message once in a while and inevitably an old memory comes up and we have a good laugh. Growing up in the West End was a gift that I didn't appreciate or fully understand it's part it played in shaping who I am. 

Growing up Italian meant having family and friends close. It meant sharing food and special celebrations and knowing that when times got tough- which they did, there was always somewhere to go and someone to talk to to help get your mind off your troubles for a bit.  I am incredibly grateful to have had this experience. I didn't realize it then how fortunate we were to live in such an amazing community. It was indeed a blessing and I definitely realize it now.

Scritto con amore,

Elena  💜