This is the story of my grandma and grandpa( or nonna and nonno in italian) told through the words of my tough as nails grandamother. Their names are Angela and Angelo Bevilacqua. As I sit in the basement of their two family house in Bensonhurst,(the basement is almost always where italian families gather leaving the upstairs floors to sit miticulously untouched like a museum except for holidays) I listen to my nonna share some struggles she faced when first coming to this country. I’ve heard many of her old stories before as she relives life on the farm, usually being told while shes cooking up something delicious in the kitchen. But today was different because I was asking questions and recording her answers. And for a second I could see she was taken back into that time as she recounted her long trip over from her small village of Villa Nova di Batista and landed upon the busy and diverse streets of Brooklyn New York.

I was twenty one when I was married to my husband Angelo. Before that day my name wasAngela Perrino. Now I am Mrs. Angela Bevilacqua. Me and your grandfather were not allowed to spend time together alone before we were married. Things were very different then. Were from the small town of Villa Nova di Batista in the Province de Avellino, close toNaples. My mother, your great nonna Theresa was born in the United States, in New Rochelle in 1905. She went back with her mother in 1911 when she was just six years old. She grew up in Villa Nova and eloped with my father Antonio Perrino because her father had planned for her to marry someone else. She returned to our small village and started having children. First came your uncle Victor, then me in 1931, then zio Santo, zia Rosa, and last zio Atillio.
We lived in Italy during War World two. That was a very scary time. We lived through bombs being dropped on our villages. Living on a farm we would run through the fields when we heard planes coming. My father used to have to hide the food from the German soldiers because they would take everything. I remember one time nonna Theresa left me and Atillio alone when we heard the planes and the bombs coming. I had to run and hide with him on my shoulders because at that time he was just a little boy. Oh my God that was so scary. I was only a little girl. But life then was very different then the life little girls live today. I cooked for my whole family at a young age and worked on the farm instead if going to school.
After the War zio Victor convinced nonna Theresa to return to the United States since she was a citizen. He begged her to come over so we could live a more free, happy life. No more life on the farm. I married in 1952. In 1953 nonna Theresa came to the U.S. where her mothers sister was now living in Brooklyn. A year later she called for Victor and his new wife, and in 1955 she called for me and papa. We get on the boat to come. This was not a nice boat ride. Very crowded and everyone sick, even papa. Not just sea sick, but sad sick. You see I was happy I was going to be with my family, he was leaving his.
Coming here was so hard at first. We lived in a crowded house, but I was used to that. The language was the hardest thing for me. I couldn't understand anything. At the store I would just point to things. And getting around was hard, I couldn’t ask or understand directions. We were living in Park Slope Brooklyn on Sackett Street. My aunt got me my first job in a factory that made marine uniforms. At first I was just counting the material and helping around, but then I learned the machine and learned how to sew the blue and white uniforms.
It took a long time to settle, and even after we got our first own apartment papa was still very sad. He was working for the railroad but missed his family. We had your uncle John, who I named Giovanni and taught italian to since I couldn’t speak english. After his first day of school he came home and called me stupid for not teaching him english. I felt stupid because I couldn’t help him. Your uncle Mario started helping him learn the english language.
I think of myself as an American even though I cook food from my country and still speak the language. Its hard because I cant write english but now I can speak english and get to where I wanna go. When I see you go to school and live your life here I know I made the right decision. It was hard for me but I did it for my family. This country has brought me pain but also a lot of happy times. I am a citizen of the United States now so I think I am an American.