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How do you tell a story about two people who gave you life? Parents are the center of your universe when you are a baby. Good parents are there for your every need when you come into this world. You rely on these two individuals for every thing, every basic need.

Parents are their child’s first love, friend, teacher and, at times, confidante. My parents were all of these and more. Of course, like any family they were not perfect; however, perfect to me.

My mother was a lovely, green-eyed, fair complexioned woman who grew up on a farm during the ’30s & ’40s. Her father had died when she was a mere 16 years old, so she became a very responsibly teenager. Shy and humble she taught me a great deal about family and about being a mom. Her patience with children was an attribute I cherish. My mother had a way of making friends with every one she met. Quiet in mannerism but rich in intuition, she sacrificed many things for her family and others.

Dad was born to Italian immigrant parents who worked hard to make a living for their three sons. My dad was the oldest and his Italian heritage was very, very important to him. He also grew up in the same era as mom but in more of an urban setting. His father ran a butcher shop, which eventually, he inherited. His childhood was full of family and food! As in many Italian families back then, his mother doted on him. He, like mom, had a simple life; full of family visits and big Sunday dinners surrounded by loved ones.

In 1943 my father entered into World War II. He was part of the army reconnaissance and went overseas to fight the Germans. He never spoke to us in length about his time in the war, perhaps too painful to remember; however, we did know that he was dubbed a hero. He fought in the great Battle of the Bulge where he earned a Purple Heart and Bronze Star. Upon returning from the war, after being shot, he received a warm and triumphant welcome.

Of course I did not know this man, the hero. Growing up I knew a gentle man. Dad was a hard worker who provided, with my mother’s help, a safe and humble home. Although my father went to work every, single day he was definitely not a risk taker. There were times in his life that he perhaps could have changed careers, but for some reason, whether loyalty to his parents, fear of failure or something else entirely, he never did.

Dad loved the butcher shop he inherited from his father and that was where he thrived. The customers became his family and he would look after them wholeheartedly. As a child I never thought anything of it, dad was hardly home. He worked six days a week, perhaps giving more than he got from this business. Nevertheless, our family never worried about food, dad always brought home the most amazing cuts of meats!

Backing up a bit, my parents met through my uncle. My mom had a secretarial position a few buildings down from the butcher shop and had become friends with my father’s brother. He introduced them and dad became smitten with mom. She, being shy and introverted at the time, was drawn to this handsome casanova.

The two were married on September 3, 1951 and started their lives together. Their wedding was one for the ages! Growing up I remember hearing stories of a magical day that began with a 9 a.m. Catholic mass followed by a lovely breakfast. Their glorious celebration continued with a huge reception in which guests enjoyed delectable food and continuous pleasure that lasted well into the evening.

As a young girl, I always admired pictures of my parents on their wedding day. Almost exactly 34 years after they took their vows, wearing her beautiful satin, lace accented gown, I took those same vows. I was beyond thrilled to be able to wear that gorgeous dress that I had looked upon with favor for so many years, and marry the man of my sweet dreams!

I could go on and on about my parents, but the bottom line is that they did the best they could with what they had. They were good people who loved their family very much. Mistakes, I’m sure they made, but our childhood was never the wiser. My brother, sister’s and I agree that although we didn’t have a “Leave it to Beaver” kind of family, we wouldn’t change a thing. My parents did the very best they could. They put food on the table, clothes on our backs, provided us with a moral compass and when the time came, set us free. Free to become the individuals we were destined to be; with choices to make and families to raise.

Hands down, parenting is the hardest job on the planet. I can never repay mom and dad for their sacrifices and their wisdom, I can only try my hardest and hope that my efforts as a parent are someday looked at by my children as adequate.

My parents have both passed away but I carry them with me always and their legacy continues as their blood passes from me to my children and now grandchildren. Phyllis and Joe, you did great! Thank you for sticking it out through all the triumphs and tears for 51 years, and always loving your family. My family exists because you two fell in love.

All My Love – Your Baby,

lisa-aka, mamadelvec