When all that DNA Ancestry testing became available, I was totally not interested. I still won’t get tested. Luckily, both my brother and sister did the test. And we’re Italian!

I should have known. I’ve always related to my Italian friends. And there have been many. Check out the last names of some of my best friends through the years. Ciarimboli, Angelotti, Tomaselli, Viglianese, Mastantuono, Cerone. I grew up eating homemade pizza that my friend Pammy’s Grandma made in the basement kitchen of her home (can’t mess up the upstairs kitchen, it’s for show). And these days you’ll often find us dining with the Farandas and the Arpinos. Or the Buttas and the Orofinos.

Not only did I feel Italian, I wanted to be Italian. I would watch documentaries on Italian Americans, and long to be part of a big family with pasta on the table and a pot of sauce (or gravy) on the stove. Well, guess what. I am Italian. And I'm at least one-quarter Italian. That’s great news!

When my sister was in town, we even went to a great Italian restaurant and toasted to "famiglia." I’m still proud of and will always embrace my European Jewish genes, but to find out I’m Italian has made me beyond happy! Grazie per aver letto questo. Ciao!

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