Our legacy begins in several small villages in the Campania and Naples regions of Italy. The areas are known for vibrant dishes, lively festivals, and rich performative arts like sfogliatella, Festa di San Gennaro, and Canzone Napoletana. While my family may not celebrate these festivals or sing traditional songs on street corners, we live out the spirit of Campania in quieter, more personal ways. To truly understand a culture, you must first look at the soul—the people. Campanians are very emotional; we’re welcoming, deeply rooted in place and faith, passionate, resourceful, resilient, and funny. At the same time, we eat late at night, walk at our own pace (a nice way of saying always late), and, well, driving isn’t exactly our strong suit. Through my research, I’ve developed a stronger appreciation for why my family and I are the way we are—the good and the chronically late. I believe these lived-in traits, more than any formal tradition, are most worth preserving, because they are at the core of what makes us who we are and shape how we experience life, love, and community.
When my grandfather decided to trace his roots, long before I was born, my mother had the opportunity to visit San Rufo, a modest community where a few of my cousins still live today. Upon arriving unannounced, my mother’s family was promptly invited in and welcomed with homemade cheeses, wine, and sausage. She tells me it seemed like the entire town stopped by to meet them and wish them a happy New Year. They even invited their American cousins to spend the night.
This is what family in the Italian tradition is about—unconditional love and generosity without hesitation. When both of my parents lost their jobs in 2009, my grandparents invited us to live with them for as long as we needed. Living with them at such a young age allowed me to form a connection many kids miss out on. Whether it was bonding over music in the car on the way to daycare or learning how to play chess with my Pop Pop, the memories they made out of hardship will always hold a special place.
In an Italian family, family extends to those in your community as well. Years ago, my father worked with a man named Jose, who had fallen on hard times and was living out of his car with his two daughters. That Christmas, my father had my sister and me pick out gifts for Jose’s daughters and invited them to celebrate with our family. We didn’t know them well, but it didn’t matter—because Italians make room at the table.
I’ve also seen this kindness reflected in the broader Italian American community through my involvement with the Associated Italian American Charities (AIAC). For the past four years, I’ve had the opportunity to volunteer at their annual charity event. Everyone shows up to lend a hand, share stories, and make people feel like they belong. This is what it means to be Italian: to welcome others with open arms and show up for those you care about. In a time filled with so much negativity and hate, nothing could be more important to preserve and practice than that.
Ever since I was a kid, Christmas has been my favorite holiday. While the gifts under the tree and cinnamon rolls in the morning do play a part, the cultural traditions my family celebrates give it the edge. Every year, we celebrate Christmas Eve with the Feast of the Seven Fishes—an
Italian American tradition we’ve modified to be more traditional by only serving dishes from the Campania region. I’m always in charge of the zeppole con le alici—savory fried dough balls with anchovies inside, a simple yet delicious start to our meal. Pop Pop likes me to do it like his mother did. We only fry a few of them with anchovies, so no one truly knows what they’re going to get. My grandfather then makes dishes like zuppa di cozze and baccalà, staples of Campania, as our homage to generations before us. Every year, it’s something to look forward to, as nothing brings us together like food.
While looking forward gives us hope, looking backward teaches us invaluable lessons. For decades, my grandfather has dedicated countless hours to researching our family’s history, even making trips to Italy to learn more. But as he puts it, “English can only get you so far.” Many records we need to trace our history fully, such as birth certificates, baptismal documents, and family registers, are locked away in San Rufo’s church and written entirely in Italian.
When I enrolled at (redacted) University, I began studying Italian. At first, I just thought it was the most interesting option for my language requirement, but it now has a deeper purpose. It’s no longer just about fulfilling a class requirement—it’s about helping my grandfather gain clarity on this question he has been asking himself for decades. Learning Italian has become a bridge to connect to my ancestors and carry forward the work my grandfather began. It will help me tell my kids the stories my grandfather wished he could have told, provide context, and give them the language to truly understand where they come from.
From the Tarantella at weddings, to confetti almonds always tucked in the cupboard at our grandparents’ house, waiting for us kids to eat them all, to pizza night every Friday, there are a hundred traditions I could say I wish to preserve. But what makes us who we are goes beyond the tangibles—it’s in the nuances: the way we carry ourselves in all aspects of life, with affection, with pride, with a little chaos, and above all, with a deep love for each other. These are the aspects of my heritage I will carry forward—not just as traditions, but as a way of being.