Thats just it, they did not adapt to the new culture. They said pretty much every day that we were italian, not american, and we would live as they had lived. My mother told me i was lucky she let me go to school, as her mother pulled her out of school after grade 3 to work on the farm. They were sharecroppers so they were very poor. Her home had a dirt floor. My paternal grandfather was the italian grandpa trump, only not successful, just very mean.

So growing up meant trying to create order out of absolute chaos. Building a house in a continuing war zone. If i showed any sense of pride or competence, my mother would blow me back to ground zero psychologically, not just a gentle tamper down. Reading Ms. Magazine on the one hand, and on the other, my dad telling me not to read Mad Magazine because my kids would turn out deformed like Alfred E Newman. It was Garbage In, Garbage Out. How could it be anything else?

ETA - So my latest thing is, why has it always been so hard for me to do the right thing for myself? When really, isn't it very easy? Eat vegetables, get exercise, clean up as you go.