(With the approach of Columbus Day, I’m reposting this brief tribute that I wrote for my father in 1994, when he was eighty-five years old. Columbus Day is a revered occasion for Italian-Americans, but it is especially poignant for me and my family. In 1924, it was the day my father arrived in America. In 1974, my son was born on that day. And in 1996, my youngest daughter married on that day.
The photo is from my father’s immigration and transport document. He is in the center, flanked by his younger brothers.
I hope you enjoy this personal indulgence, and break from my usual poetry.)
I write on the eve of Columbus Day, a day with personal meaning unlike mere national holidays, a day for reflection on more than salutary celebration of a new world conceived, a day I respectfully decline to debate of…
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