Friday, October 2, 2009

Ce su ches la rufiana?

In the history of the world and all of its civilizations, I have a hard time believing Italians somehow cornered the market on crime. Some fifty-million plus Italian-Americans were not all spawned from five families in Sicily.

Today, I'd like to set the record straight. I have no idea how to find anything that fell off a truck and I am not sure how one could go about setting up a "hit" on ones enemies.

The family name Fois is not French and it is not pronounced "Fwa" … it is pronounced "voice" with an "f" … see didn't I tell you we would be better off spelling phonetically. I am Foice.

My father was from Sardinia, an Island off the Southern coast of Italy which volleyed between France and Italy for decades. Unlike Corsica, which is predominantly French in language and customs, the main island of Sardinia, is the resort place for wealthy Italians.

My mother's family was from Naples and her name Fieore, a name that sounds a bit more Italian. I was told by teachers and friends that my name cannot be Italian because it does not end in a vowel. Trust me, my dad was Italian and enjoyed being an anomaly, in name and in everything else.

The men and women of our childhood were dark and robust and hearty seaman and fierce women who came to find a dream. They infected us with the belief, this was the land to which people came to realize those dreams.

He told us often we were not a product of the huddled masses, but of an illegal alien who left his merchant ship one weekend and failed to return.

At the table we toast to La famiglia. I drink to them at the edge.

fOIS

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