My family comes from Campobasso, a small city in southern Italy in a region called Molise, which was once part of the old Abruzzi area. It’s a place that doesn’t get talked about much, even by Italians. But to my family, it’s where everything started. My great-grandparents came from Campobasso in the late 1800s, looking for a better life in America. Over the years, some of the traditions they brought with them have stayed the same, while others have faded or changed. As I get older, I’ve started to think more about what those traditions mean to me, and which ones I want to carry with me into adulthood.

One of the biggest ways we stay connected to our roots is through food. My grandmother cooked traditional dishes from Campobasso that she learned from her mother. Every holiday—and especially Christmas Eve—is centered around the kitchen. We had homemade lasagna, homemade ravioli, and zeppole (fried dough with sugar). For New Years Eve we would have pickled herring along with Fave e Cicorie (mashed fava beans and chicory greens).  Most of these recipes aren’t written down. They’re passed down by watching, helping, and tasting. I’ve started helping more during the holidays, partly to be useful, but also because I know this is how our traditions stay alive. If I don’t learn them, who will?

Another connection to Campobasso is the way we celebrate religious holidays. While we don’t have the big public festivals they have back in Italy—like the Parade of the Mysteries, where kids dress up like saints and float through the streets—we still make a big deal out of religious days. My family always attends church on Christmas and Easter, and my grandmother would always go early to light a candle and say a prayer. These traditions help remind us of our roots and the values our ancestors lived by, especially faith and community.

The Molise dialect, called molisano, is mostly lost in my family. My great-grandparents spoke it, and my grandmother remembers some words, but now only little phrases get passed around. I used to hear my grandmother say something that sounded like “mo va’!” when she was frustrated, and my aunt explained it meant something like “get outta here” in their dialect. It makes me sad that the language is disappearing, because it’s such a big part of a culture. I’ve started reading little things online about it, just so I can hold on to pieces of it. Even knowing a few words makes me feel closer to where we came from.

Family is a huge part of Italian culture, especially from regions like Molise. In my house, we were always taught that family comes first. We lived near my grandmother, and some nights we would have dinner together. These meals were loud, full of laughter, and sometimes arguments—but they’re always about love. That strong family bond is something I want to hold on to as I grow up. But I also think it’s okay to find balance. Sometimes, in Italian families, there’s pressure to always be around or to put family needs above everything else. I think there’s a way to still be loyal to your family while also living your own life.

There are some traditions I don’t feel the need to carry forward, especially the old-school gender roles. In the past, women were expected to stay in the kitchen and men made the big decisions. Even though my mother is more modern, there are still times when these ideas show up. I’ve heard relatives say things like, “She should learn to cook for her husband,” or “Boys don’t cry.” That’s not the kind of future I want. I believe families work best when everyone shares responsibility, and when people can be themselves without worrying about outdated expectations.

One tradition I definitely want to preserve is the hospitality. In my family, it doesn’t matter who you are—if you walk through our door, you’ll be offered food, coffee, and probably a place at the table. I love that about our culture. It’s not just about feeding people—it’s about making them feel like they belong. I hope I always carry that with me, whether it’s inviting friends over or helping someone who needs a place to go.

The stories are another part I want to keep. My grandmother would tell us about how their parents came to America with nothing, how they worked hard, and how they held onto their culture even in a new country. These stories have taught me a lot about resilience and pride. I’ve started writing some of them down because I don’t want them to get lost. Maybe one day I’ll share them with my own kids.

In the end, I feel lucky to come from a place like Campobasso, even if I’ve never been there. Our traditions help me understand who I am and where I come from. Some of them I’ll keep exactly as they are. Others I’ll adapt to fit my life. And a few I might let go of. But I’ll always be proud of my roots, and I’ll do my best to honor them as I move forward.