As a child, I grew up lucky enough to never be hungry – a blessing I was given at birth but never really understood its actual value. My father worked hard, I realize now, to make sure his girls always had full bellies, and my mother made sure we were always stuffed with deliciousness.
My parents also encouraged us to experiment with food and try new things as young children; My dad always made sure we were tasting various ethnic cuisines. He was born and raised in the Bronx, New York, but by the time I, the youngest of three girls, was born, my family was already living in the hills of New Jersey. I was raised in a summer bungalow that belonged to my father’s family. My grandfather and father converted it into a year-round residential home in the quiet town of Lake Hopatcong. It was located just far enough from the city that my dad could live the country life but close enough to get back and forth to work in Manhattan each day.
Despite my dad’s need to “get his girls out of Fort Apache,” he loved to take us into the city to indulge in fantastic dinners in Chinatown or Little Italy. In our family, everything revolved around food. We could be on our way to the mall to go clothes shopping, and my mom would have a snack bag packed. You can only imagine what it was like at actual mealtime – or worse, “Nash time,” a Goldstein term for “graze on crap all day long.”
Oddly, my mother was born in Cuba in 1938 after her parents left Poland and Russia. She was raised on rations until she came to the United States alone at the age of 16 after her great aunt sponsored her Visa. My mom learned quickly about the finer things while living with her wealthy aunt and uncle in America. They were prominent members of New York society and were known to hobnob in exclusive settings.
With her newfound life, dining out soon became one of my mother’s favorite pleasures. So, when she and the “King of da Bronx” tied the knot, they vowed to share a good life of great taste – literally! A promise from which my sisters and I greatly benefited.
Unfortunately, I never really appreciated food as a privilege until my maternal grandmother finally came from Cuba to visit. It was then that I realized what I had personally taken for granted my entire life. The freedom to eat and enjoy healthy, fresh food!
When Grandma Dora finally got permission to visit us, I was in my twenties and already living in Florida with my sisters Melinda and Vivian. She had flown into Newark, N.J., and stayed with my parents up north for a few days; Then, she and my mom came down to hang out with us girls for a while. Even though my dad chose to send them down while he stayed in Jersey, we had a great itinerary planned for her (with Daddy’s credit card)!
We did all kinds of tourist things. We took my grandmother to Walt Disney World, watched the extensive firework display at Epcot Center, and took a Pontoon ride to see alligators. We believed she enjoyed all of the sightseeing and amusement we took her on. However, the one thing that totally lit her up like a young child meeting Santa Claus for the first time was the produce section in the nearby Publix.
It was her first time ever in a public grocery store, and she was literally overwhelmed by all of the fruits and vegetables available for us to “have.” It wasn’t about what it might cost -she was just amazed by the number of choices. All that fresh food that was available for the taking. For the first time, then, I realized how lucky I was to be a “Jersey Girl” born in the 1960s. Not just because I was safe and free but because I had the privilege to indulge in anything and everything the free world offered.
Thank you, Mommy, for moving to America.
Lisa DeMarco is a columnist for Villages-News.com