Meeting Family

The connection of my family to the Old World has long since been severed. Growing up there was little talk of our ethic origins except for the occasional reference to being of amalgamated European decent, or, more crudely put with an eye towards tongue-in-cheek humor, “European mongrels.” For as many places as we traveled in Europe and for as many times as we made the journey, we were always embraced by the continent as tourists and never as family.

Lisa’s family's connection with its ethnic origins is infinitely stronger than mine. One of the very first personal details I learned about Lisa is that her roots are not merely Italian but more precisely, and perhaps more importantly, Sicilian. When asked of my family origins, I am always forced to rattle off nationalities as if they are spices to be added to a never-been-tried sauce. “Oh, I am a little German, with a pinch of Irish, and maybe a dash of Welsh and English.” I’ve even heard that we have a little Native American in us, although I am not really certain how accurate that rumor is. Lisa’s family, by contrast, never had to speculate about their ethic lineage, for they still have living breathing relatives in the “old country.” And, I am happy to say, we had the great pleasure of meeting them on our recent trip to Sicily.

Since having relatives in Europe is completely unknown to me, and since Lisa’s contact with her Sicilian relatives was confined to their sporadic trips to the U.S. over the years, we really did not know what to expect when we flew into the Trapani airport a week before Christmas. While we did not want to impose on them during the understandably busy holiday season, it was the only lengthy period of time away from school that we had and it seemed absurd to travel to Sicily and not try to meet up with them at least for a meal. I don’t know how Lisa envisioned our interlude with her Sicilian relatives, but my pseudo WASP upbringing informed me that it would be a polite, slightly awkward, dinner that would enable us to become more familiar distant relatives and then we would part ways. It is clear to me now just how different the white Anglo Saxon approach to distant relatives is from the Sicilian approach.

From the moment we met up with them to the moment we said adieu, they were nothing but warm, welcoming, and exceptionally hospitable. We were picked up in Trapani by two of Lisa’s relatives and driven an hour and a half to Palermo, where most of the family lives. Along the way, we made a side trip to see where they harvest salt from Sicily’s Mediterranean coastline and once we reached Palermo, we were given a historical and architectural survey of the old city. Wide-eyed and passively along for the ride, we were taken to “Auntie Nancy’s” for lunch. Filing out of the quintessentially small European elevator, our guides opened the apartment door and we were surprised with a dozen smiling welcoming faces to greet us in unison. Happily overwhelmed, I looked over to Lisa and gave her the, “oh my god, were you expecting this?” kind of a glance. They wasted no time in ushering us to the dining room where we were seated at the honorary head of the table and given special wine glasses. After a delightful lunch we retired to the living room to enjoy Sicilian deserts along with Sicilian desert wine and were informed that the family had made up a room for us so we would not have to stay in a hotel. It’s a strangely difficult position to be in when you don’t want to be a burden but, at the same, you don’t want to be rude by rejecting someone’s hospitality.

After our first few attempts of, “oh no, there’s no need to put us up, we’ll stay in a hotel” were met with confusion and then firm insistence, we dropped the subject. As that first day gave way to the second and then the third, Lisa and I slowly learned that the family had no intention of allowing us to tour Palermo without a relative to guide us. They took turns taking us everywhere in and around the city. They cooked unbelievably delicious meals for us in their homes and introduced us to the amazing array of “typically Sicilian fare” at some great restaurants in Palermo. Any mention of financial contribution on our part was immediately castoff. As the days progressed, we realized the futility of our polite, not wanting to be a burden, resistance to their hospitality. We gave in to fact that they were treating us as family quests and we allowed ourselves to be embraced as such. When we did, the abstract notion of having family in Europe that we possessed when we set out for Sicily was replaced with genuine familial relationships, albeit distant relationships.

I can scarcely convey how nice it was to meet Lisa’s relatives in Sicily and how the sincere hospitality they gave was the next best thing to being with our immediate families back home for the holidays. I only hope that we are given the opportunity to reciprocate that hospitality if and when they decide to travel to the United States.