I came here from Italy.
My life has been full of ups and downs, but those peaks and valleys molded me into the person I am today.
I came here from Italy.
I was born into a poor family in a dangerous part of Rome. I was an accident. I spent 10 years of my life in a ramshackle house that only had the necessities. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, and barely any pictures.
I came here from Italy.
When I was ten years old, my family had saved up enough money to start a new life in America. We did not know a word of English when we moved here. Soon enough, I was an American citizen.
I came here from Italy with my parents, leaving the only life I had ever known behind. I came here from Italy not knowing a single sentence in English. I found solace in soccer, and that sport became my life once I moved to America. Soon enough, I learned English. I made friends. I became an American.
And then I fell in love with football.
~
I want to take this opportunity to talk about my life before America. My father’s name is Gianluigi Bianchi. They were born poor, and they were raised poor. My father’s mother died when he was born and his father was an alcoholic. Gianluigi confided in his brothers and sisters for his entire childhood, and promised to himself that when he grew older and started a family, he would never, ever, not once, lash out on his child like his father lashed out on him. That was a promise he has never broken.
My mother’s name is Maria. She, too, grew up poor. Her family was just as dysfunctional as my pop’s- she lived in a broken home. Her mother and father were addicts who broke Maria down constantly. She was afraid of her house because of the people who were in it. As soon as she turned eighteen, Maria was kicked out of the house. Italy is known for its’ Mammoni- adult men and women who continue living with their parents after they finish school. That was nonexistent in Maria’s household. She was booted and needed to find a job ASAP. While she was homeless and looking for employment, she met Gianluigi. Who also happened to be homeless.
Two months later, they got married. It was rushed, but they knew they wanted to be together. My parents got married in a church with none of their relatives present. They got married in front of 3 strangers. There was no reception. After the ceremony, you know what my parents did? They went home, got out of their wedding attire, and went back to their jobs. It was a Wednesday.
Ah, romance.
~
My parents have a motto: Fede e famiglia. It means Faith and Family. They live by it to this day. They never wanted to give up on their faith, and they never wanted to give up on their family. You know what my parents also wanted to do? They wanted to move to America. They wanted to start over and build a better life for themselves. They wanted to start a family. That was my parents’ goal. My parents wanted to give me the life they never had. All they had to do was work.
A lot.
My parents took many jobs to get themselves enough money to earn a plane ticket to America, buy a house, and do all of the necessary things to get themselves in order over in the United States. They worked long days and rarely saw each other. When my mom was leaving for work, my father was coming home. Those years were rough, but when they had downtime (which was incredibly rare), they would always say these words to each other- Fede e Famiglia. It’s what kept them going. Through all of the hardships, all of the work, all of the jobs, they kept each other going by repeating 3 words. How weird is that?
Anyways, my parents were working their asses off, trying to earn as much money as possible before moving out of Rome. They were doing pretty well, and had gotten into a rhythm. They were earning more and getting ever closer to their goals. Things were going great, and ever so slowly, America was in my parents’ horizons. There, they could start a family. There, they could become part of a community, with nobody judging them. It truly was their dream.
And then I came along.
~
I was an accident. My parents never meant to conceive me. I was not supposed to be alive until my parents went to America. And somehow, some way, I ended up being a surprise member of the family.
Remember that motto I told you my parents had? Fede e famiglia? Yeah, well had it not been for the “Fede,” I’d probably be dead. My parents are Christians, and they are strongly against abortion. They are accepting of everyone else, but abortions are just a thing they don’t like and never did. My parents chose not to abort me, so 9 months after they found out I was going to be a thing, they had a third member of the family. Unfortunately, I set them back a bit. My mom had to take time off from her jobs to care for me in my infancy. My dad had to take a month off after I was born. I was a burden to my family at the beginning, but of course, I didn’t know that. I was too busy shitting myself and crying about food.
After a while, I grew a bit and my parents could get back to work. My parents hired a nanny to babysit me when I had to be alone, which was most of the day. Despite this, my family was always close. We never abandoned each other and my parents did the best they could for me. By the time I was 5, I could go to school, so they stopped having to charge for a nanny. Once again, America was getting closer. My parents were ready to move.
Then my dad lost his jobs.
~
We were in the home stretch of moving when my dad got fired. It was a sad day. He spent months looking for new jobs. He was a shell of his former self. He gained weight, he grew a beard, he began not to care anymore. The only things keeping him going were the promise of America, his wife, and me. It was a weird time. But soon enough, my father got back on his feet and America was closer than ever. Then, it happened.
My parents sat me down on a Tuesday evening, and told me we were moving. I remember feeling a flurry of emotions- shock, sadness, and anger. I’m ashamed to say it, but for a while, I genuinely hated my parents after that. It was supposed to be a time of happiness and excitement, but for me, it was hell. Italy was the only life I had ever known. I did not like change. I did not want to move, but I didn’t understand that it wasn’t about me. I didn’t know about my parents’ dream. All I knew was that I was moving away from my friends.
My parents decided to move to a tight knit Italian community in St. Louis, known as The Hill. I didn’t know much about the Hill, other than that it was the place we were moving to. Therefore, I hated it by default.
I did not know a word of English when I moved to St. Louis. I was an outsider at my school. I was lonely, sad, and afraid. People tried to communicate with me and I just shut them down. I didn’t know that their intentions were good. I didn’t know a lot of things. You don’t tend to know a lot of things when you’re 10.
What I did know was soccer. I played it a lot when I was in Italy and I was damn good. I was able to communicate with my fellow classmates through this sport. When I made gestures, they followed. Despite me not knowing English and barely being able to have a conversation with someone who wasn’t my mother or father, I was able to become the general of the pitch. At this point, I had met friends. I was learning English. I forgave my parents. I was on the up and up.
By the time I was 13, I knew English fluently. I had met more people, and I had become even better at soccer. I became an American citizen, along with my parents. I was doing well in school. People were interested in me. My parents now had friends, and The Hill was now a place I loved.
But there was one thing that eluded me. While I loved soccer and I was good at it, it hadn’t brought me the same joy that it had in elementary. I wanted more. I wanted something new.
And then I dove straight into football.
~
-Gio
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