My grandparents left. Now I’m going back

Understanding where we come from helps us better understand who we are—and for me, that journey begins with my Italian heritage. I believe family is the foundation of who we are. Yes, they give us our physical features, but more importantly, they pass down traditions and values shaped over generations. They teach us to love unconditionally, to support one another, and to keep growing. If you come from an Italian family like I do, you might also share a strong love of pasta or the expressive use of hand gestures while talking.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve felt a deep, unexplainable connection to Italy. Every photo I saw, every story I heard only strengthened my longing to visit. Why go now? Because when something truly matters to you, you make time for it. I always knew I would go to Italy someday, but discovering Italianforawhile and the incredible program they offer, I knew this was my time to make that dream a reality.

The two people who opened my eyes to Italy the most were my grandparents. Their stories are important because they are the foundation of who I am.

My grandfather’s story begins in Caccuri, Calabria, located in southern Italy. His father, Rocco, was just fifteen years old when World War I broke out. He was drafted into the Italian army and sent to North Africa. While in battle, Rocco was badly wounded and hospitalized. Unable to return to combat, the army offered him a chance to learn a trade during his recovery. He chose to become a barber, which little did he know, was a decision that would alter his future. A few years later, Rocco married a lovely woman named Marie. Two years into marriage, Rocco was offered a job from his cousin, who was living in the States as a superintendent. “If you come to the U.S.,” he said, “I promise you will have work as a barber.” So, Rocco and Marie took a leap of faith and left Italy behind. In 1923, they boarded the Martha Washington bound for the United States. Marie, five months pregnant and terribly seasick, endured the difficult voyage. They arrived safely in Philadelphia on September 2. Not long after settling in a small town called Boomer, West Virginia, Marie gave birth to their first child, James Falbo—my grandfather. Though he wasn’t born in Italy, my grandpa was raised to speak Italian and embrace his heritage. As he got older, he often visited Calabria, reconnecting with his roots. In 1958, he married a beautiful Italian woman named Mary Ciarallo—my grandmother.

My grandma was born in Scanno, a town in the Abruzzo region. Her father, Bernardo, was a well-known banker in both Scanno and Florence. Because he spoke both English and Italian, he often served as a translator at the bank. He and his wife had built a comfortable life in Italy and were raising three wonderful children. However, he believed the United States would offer his children better job opportunities and greater access to education. So, despite the risk of giving up his career and status, he chose to put his family first. On October 23, 1946, the Ciarallo family arrived in New York City aboard the Marine Perch. My grandmother was twelve years old when her life changed forever. They eventually settled in Pennsylvania, where Bernardo humbly took a job as a janitor to support his family. His sacrifice paid off. All three children received good educations and found meaningful work in the U.S. 

My upcoming trip to Italy is my way of honoring my grandparents’ legacies. I loved my grandfather deeply, but he passed away when I was nine, leaving me with only a few cherished memories of us together. Visiting Italy is my way of feeling closer to him. My grandmother is now 91 years old, still sharp, spirited, and full of sarcasm. She never lets anyone leave her house without a full belly and food for the road. She’s one of the most generous people I know. I wish she could come with me to Italy, but long-distance travel is no longer an option. So, this trip is for both of us. I can’t wait to show her photos, tell her stories, and share the memories I make there.

Learning the beautiful Italian language is another way I hope to connect more deeply with my heritage. I know I have a LONG way before becoming fluent, but I am excited to learn, grow, and appreciate the language and culture in a new way. I still have a few distant relatives in southern Italy, and one day I hope to visit and speak to them in their native language.

I also want to experience Italy through the foods my grandparents loved. My grandma adored the peaches from her local market in Scanno. While I may not be able to get them from the exact same market, I’ll definitely be trying peaches in her honor. She also spoke fondly of the spaghetti her mother made, and I’ve promised her I’ll be eating plenty of spaghetti (and every other kind of pasta) during my stay. My grandfather loved lamb and pasta e fagioli, and I look forward to tasting those as well.

When I think about my heritage and the journey my family has taken, two words come to mind: gratitude and sacrifice. Knowing where they came from reminds me to be thankful for their courage and faith that ultimately led to who I am today. Sacrifice is one of the hardest, most selfless acts a parent can make, and my family’s sacrifices have created opportunities for generations to come.

Visiting the country my grandparents once called home feels like I’m returning to a second home myself. Even though I haven’t set foot in Italy yet, it already feels like a part of me through the stories, the photos, and the love my grandparents passed down.

Yes, my grandparents once left Italy, but now, it’s my turn to go back.