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I was well into adulthood before I realized I was "American". Of Course I had been born in America and lived here all my life. It never occurred to me that being a citizen meant that I was "American". Americans were people who ate peanut butter and jelly on mushy white bread that was wrapped in a waxed paper package. Me? I was Italian.

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For me, a second generation Italian who grew up in the 40�s and 50�s, there was a definite distinction between "Us" and "Them". We were Italians, everyone else, Irish, Germans, Polish, Jews were all "Med-i-gons". There was no animosity involved in that distinction, no prejudice, no hard feelings; it was just that we felt our way was better.

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We had a breadman, a milkman, an iceman, and a fruit and vegetable man who we called the "Huckster". We also had a Jevel-a-water man, and a man who came to your door and made keys, fixed your umbrellas and sharpened your knives and scissors.

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They were the peddlers that plied the Italian neighborhoods. My mom would wait for their call, their yell, their distinctive sounds. Americans went to stores for stuff�What a waste!

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Truly I pitied their loss. They never knew the pleasures of waking in the morning to a fresh loaf of Italian bread on the doorstep. Instead of being able to climb up on the back of the hucksters truck for a ride up the block, my Med-i-gon friends had to walk to the "AC-a-me".

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When it came to food, it always amazed me that my American friends only ate a roast and vegetables on holidays. Now we Italians also ate a roast and vegetables on holidays but we also had macaroni, meatballs, sausage and pork. They always ate backwards, they ate their salad before their meal, but we Italians ate our salad after our meals. My mom would always say, "The vinegar will cut the grease.

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We learned to eat a seven-course dinner in one five-hour sitting. In between courses we picked on an assortment of extras, cheese, nuts, and castagnas and sipped on homemade wine. I truly believe that Italians live a romance with food.

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Speaking of Food, Sunday was truly the big day of the week. That was the day you woke up to the smell of meatballs, sausage, garlic and gravy, it was macaroni day. My Med-i-gon friends called gravy "Sauce" and macaroni "Pasta". Sunday, of course wouldn�t be Sunday if you didn�t go to church and then come home and steal one of my Mom�s famous meatballs, or take a chunk of that delicious Italian bread and dip it into the gravy mmmm.

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There was another difference between "Us" and "Them", the Med-i-gons; most Italians had a garden, not just for flowers but for vegetables and fruit. They cooked them, jarred them and ate them all year long. The gravy made from home grown and canned tomatoes gave off what was without a doubt the best aroma ever to treat the nostrils of man. There was also the basil, peppers and squash. The fig trees and grapevines abounded in South Philadelphia. My Med-i-gon friends could never understand why Italians wrapped up their trees in the winter�How stupid!

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The gardens thrived only because of the tender loving care that they received by the Italian women. Talk about a green thumb, they could make a fig tree grow on cement. All they needed was a bucket of horse manure, generously donated by the horses of the "Hucksters".

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Fall was time to crush the grapes and make "Home made wine". When the wine was ripe and ready for the first tasting, the men would sit around and tell stories of when they came over on "The Boat", and how they lived in boarding houses until they got married and settled. It always amazed me how much was accomplished and how well they ate and lived on such limited incomes. The Italians must truly be the most resourceful people in the world.

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We were born in and grew up in the same house which our family was headquartered for 40 years. After the older members of the family got married we all continued to congregate at the "Headquartered" every Sunday. My pop delighted in watching everyone eat their full. He usually sat quietly and reveled in the spectacle that he and mom created.

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They had achieved their goals, they came to America and to Philadelphia to work for and enjoy the privileges of this great country. Never once did they take but always gave for fear of losing this "God given blessing" � America. When they died years ago things began to change. The family gatherings occurred less and less. When we do meet it seems as though something is missing, the two great pillars that supported and fostered the family tradition were not there. Yet we all still feel their presence in our hearts and in our minds as we al are privileged to have a little of "Mom" and "Pop" a part of us�

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-MARIO