I remember many things from my childhood, as do we all. The joyful moments and those I wish I could forget. But one tenet holds true – treat others as you would have them treat you. Although this may not have always been applied equally to the meatball makers (a.k.a., women) in my Italian family, it assuredly held true well beyond our walls. It spanned across religious beliefs and political views.  Even though my mother’s greatest fear for my future wasn’t my health or happiness, or even becoming a drug addict…it was that her daughter might not only get married, but <gasp> what could be worse that if she could be a lesbian?  Mama bragged proudly and often that she “knew lots of gay people.”   Just not her daughter, that is.  Her tolerance for sexual affiliation clearly had a few conditions. Regardless, there was always an overt politeness that I was taught to embody. In a word, it was respect.

Fast forward to 2024.  Democrat, Republican, Socialist, Facist. Independent. Apathetic. Every political ideology should be respected so that we can understand it. We do not have to be persuaded or cajoled. We should feel free to question and feel safer still to answer. Even if we shout. For Italians, that’s just called talking with our hands.

Growing up, we immensely treasured our friendships. So much so that we had more “Uncles,” “Aunts” and “Cousins” than actual blood relatives.  The closest amongst them were called cumpari or cummari for females, like “Cumpari Dim” for our family friend and partner in crime, Dimmilucci.  “You can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your family,” my mother always said.  This sacred choosing of sorts influenced my belief that true friends are more than an extension of my family.  They are my true family.  Yet, that familial dynamic has been shaken to its core thanks to a divided nation that once held nothing but promise and optimism for those who crossed oceans to land upon its shores.

I’ve had one friend too many who felt so strongly against Donald Trump (yes, the Voldermort of social situations), and so strongly for Bernie Sanders or Kamala Harris, that they either ended the friendship or threatened me if I did not vote their way. To this I say, please remember civility. Remember when we lived in a country where we were not afraid to hold an opinion, let alone express it. Don’t forget that our ancestors made a conscious choice to emigrate to America for these freedoms and the opportunity for a better life.

I will never forget. I may still shout. I may always talk with my hands – even on phone calls. And I will embody civility because I must continue to treat others as I wish to be treated lest I no longer can call myself the Mafia Niece.