Sei La Trinacria

For as long as I could remember, every time I mentioned the fact that I was Italian, my father would always correct me. “You are Sicilian!” And my mother would immediately follow up with, “100% Sicilian! 3rd generation.” I grew up thinking I inherited some rare gift; that I was some kind of pure breed in a melting pot of mutts. Most of my friends were a mix of different Italian provinces. Other friends were completely different nationalities. So, I wore my Sicilian-ism like a badge of honor. In those formative years, I learned many things. My parents raised me with the same recipes and traditions they were taught, but I didn’t really know what being Sicilian meant. I just knew I was it.

About four years ago, my husband and I traveled to Sicily for the first time. We spent two weeks in the beautiful province of Palermo. The sites, the sounds, the smells were exotic and captivating, vastly different from those we experienced in Italy.

About a week into our stay, we decided to take a quick day trip up the mountain to Monreale, the ancestral town of my paternal great-grandparents. I walked the streets looking around at the people and saw my own eyes. I noticed an older man making a hand gesture similar to the one my grandfather always made. The bakery windows were filled with treats that were often put on my table for special occasions. It was, in every way, surreal.

On the grounds of Monreale’s famous cathedral, we stood looking down at the city of Palermo. It was there that it hit me like a ton of bricks; am I American, am I Italian, am I Sicilian? My genealogical research proved that my family lived in this town for at least 500 years before my great-grandparents decided to emigrate, but in three short generations, all I had left were remnants of their beautiful culture.

The epiphany I had on that mountain-top led to a panicked frenzy of preservation. I spent the following three years gathering information and filing it away for safekeeping. Sicilian history and memoirs became my nightly reading. I began collecting traditional recipes from the provinces of my ancestors. Reading those recipes in Italian became a way to study the language. Feast day celebrations made their way onto our yearly calendar. Friends and family began to notice and wanted to take part, and so, this resurrected culture blossomed into our way of life.

Last year, we felt my daughter was old enough to appreciate a vacation in Sicily. We decided that a portion of that trip should be all about her, so we booked a week’s stay in the medieval beach town of Cefalú. We thoroughly enjoyed our time in this picturesque village. Mornings were spent on the beach. We then had lunch and a much-needed riposo in our portion of a centuries-old palazzo. Evenings were all about strolling the winding streets, shopping, and eating under the stars.

On one of those glorious days in Cefalú, I was feeling adventurous. I figured that I was never going to learn to speak the language if I kept relying on my husband to translate. I decided to go shopping alone. I found myself in the shop of a jewelry-making artisan. He smiled and said, “Bona Serra.” I returned the greeting, and he asked me where I was from. I explained in my best Italian that I was from America, but many years ago, my family emigrated from Sicily. I WAS DOING IT. I WAS HAVING MY OWN CONVERSATION IN ITALIAN! He then asked me what part of Sicily.

I replied, “Santo Stefano di Briga, Monreale, Lentini, and Marsala.”

He nodded, smiled, and said, “Sei La Trinacria.” As I tried to maintain my composure in receiving such a compliment, the conversation drifted on and I eventually picked out a pair of lovely gold earrings. I then made my purchase, thanked him, and wished him well. And that ended my shopping excursion. I think I floated up the incline to our apartment. I know I was beaming. Tears filled my eyes as I realized that it was a sign of approval, not only from the gentleman in the shop but also from my relatives that had called me back home.

I had arrived. I am Sicilian. I am the Trinacria.