My great-grandpa’s eyes twinkle as my 5-year-old self struggles to stir the giant pot of cioppino. Like this traditional seafood dish, I too am an Italian-American originating from California.
My very loud family crowds my house each holiday, relegating me to an air mattress, a sacrifice I’m more than willing to make. The rooms fill with stories and laughter as we down pizzelles and compete in a cutthroat cookie-decorating contest.
Likewise, my California beginnings, though brief, had a sizable impact on my life. I was a year old when we left, but California’s adventurous culture is part of my identity, reinforced by annual trips to visit relatives. From hiking San Jacinto Peak, to days at Disneyland, where my grandparents and mom worked, each excursion left me giddily exhausted.
The true centerpiece of our get-togethers isn’t the cioppino, but the stories and experiences that connect us as family.