The Musician... see you among the stars

My family was certainly very strange or maybe it's just typical that famlies are strange. My mother is an Army sergeant / drill instructor type. My father was a tranquil wonderful person whom the whole family loved. My oldest sister Rosetta was a very nice person except she used to bust my balls continuously. My next to oldest sister Marie was the cream of the crop. She is one of the most beautiful people I have ever known or met even though she's my sister. My youngest sister, who was about 6 years older than me, was a rat, but she was also very funny too. She would definitely stab you in the back, and then play dumb. Despite this personality, she was a clown and fun to watch most of the time. She has the making of a lesbian/dike, and until this day, I would not know for sure, but I would not be surprised if she is.

Growing up under this family was very difficult and stressful. To begin with, they had no respect for my personal belongings, and they always picked on me. I guess that is typical of being the youngest, but not every where. I was a loner, but not by choice. My brother and sisters were so much older than I that we were in different generations. My birth was an accident, or so I was told. My mother did not want another child, but she became pregnant, and they finally decided to have me. So much for pro life! I would have preferred not being born actually. If I had to separate members of the family by demeanor, I would have to say that my Brother Tom and Sister Jeannette were like my mother. My sister Marie and I are like my father and my sister Rosetta somewhere in the middle or a life of her own.

My mother hated with a passion anything about playing a guitar or being a musician. I still do not know why she bought the instruments for me if she was so against it.... I believe maybe my father had something to do with that decision. She only knew one thing, and that was the way she lived her life, to achieve something, you must work very hard. She knew nothing more than that. I personally agree with that theory, but what did she really mean? She meant that you get a job working for someone, who provides you the opportunity to exert physical labor, and then you are paid for it. You continue doing that until you build enough money and then you spend the money on whatever it is you want.

For me, that is certainly one way to do it and probably the way most people view life. However, that is certainly not the only way. A bricklayer works very hard, putting the heavy bricks together and he gets paid for his efforts. A lawyer works very hard in school, not particularly physical labor, and yet he is paid much more than the bricklayer. A person works hard regardless of how much he earns. Should a lawyer earn more money than an artist? Should a doctor earn more than a teacher? The one thing they all have in common is that they all work hard. The difference being, the way the American system is structured. Is it Capitalism! My mother and father are Italian immigrants. When they arrived here, they were, in my opinion, under a different American system. The American system is continuously changing day by day. My mother has no conception of these changes. In any event, I do not agree with my family´s perception in where I should be going in my life even though I welcome suggestions. My thoughts are that you should raise your child with love, understanding, and compassion and let them find their way. Your child should venture in any direction with personal guidance, and if they should venture in a direction of their choice, then they should have their parent´s full support. That is my philosophy. Therefore, there is a conflict of philosophies especially in my family. My older sister Rosetta and my younger sister Jeannette have the same philosophy as my mother, and therefore do not like my being a musician. My younger sister Jeannette often remarked to me that if I did not get a normal job, I would be very sorry in my future years. Maybe that is true, but I would have a much fuller life experiencing many other things and places.

My brother used to buy me the greatest presents for my birthday. When my birthday was near, I used to wait patiently for him to arrive home because I knew he was carrying a big present. He was greatly loved throughout the family although he mostly was not around or available too much. No one really ever knew where he was so he was a great mystery.

My father was really a mellow person, but can get tough when needed. As said before he was a barber. He was not too much of a hassle except at times he did some very stange and weird things. For instance: On Sunday mornings he used to call us by individual names and we had to go to the kitchen where he was waiting for us to suck the yoke out of an egg. That is right! He would poke a hole in the bottom of the egg and we had to suck the egg out of the shell. It was a horror. If we refused he gave us a beating, and we would still had to do it. I really believe that he thought that it was a very healthy thing to do. He used to do it without a problem and liked it. The other weird thing was that he would take everyone´s temperature every so often by inserting a thermometer in our ass hole. He did it respectfully, but nevertheless he did it anyway. Other than those two weird things, he was a loving father who would do anything for us. My father bought a 1959 Chevy, which he took the family around in. It was a hip car and everyone on the block admired it. One of his kicks was to take the family to the movies every Saturday night. It was a must. Everything he decided to do was a necessity with him and the family. Every Friday night, when he returned from work he used to bring us candy bars. That was great, and we all used to be waiting for him. There was not a Friday night that he did not bring candy bars. My father used to lend my brother and sisters his car anytime they needed it with out a hassle. He was indeed a great guy. I believed he was the most loved by the family because my mother was much disliked. If my father did not behave, my mother would literally beat him up. I have seen my mother grab a spaghetti strainer and slap my father across the head with it because he did not behave or do something she wanted. Seeing that was a very shocking and dramatic experience for me that I will never forget or ever except such behaviour.

My grandparents had a house in a little town called Seldon, in Long Island. It used to take about two hours to drive there from Brooklyn, and it was one of the happiest times of my life. It was quiet with dirt roads and the whole family used to go there. My Cousin Joey and his family also were there. The house had no bathroom or toilet. It had an outhouse. In the morning, the milkman would bring fresh milk with the cream on top. My Cousin Joey and I used to walk through the serene peaceful wooded areas to pick wild berries, and there were thousands of them. We had hammocks tied to the trees in the backyard, and after lunch, we used to sleep on the hammocks without hearing a sound except for the wind and the birds. After dinner, our fathers used to play the Italian songs on mandolins for hours. Our families spent months throughout the summer together, and it was probably the one event that I looked forward to always. When I was about eight years old, my grandparents died. The Seldon house was eventually sold, but that experience would remain in my heart and memories, and will shape my life for many years to come.