I was born in Troy, NY, the home of Uncle Sam. But I'm not your typical Anglo-Saxon All-American girl.
While my husband's family has been around for many generations - we still have a ceremonial Civil War sword that one of his ancestors carried - my roots are not quite as deeply planted.
Mom's Irish and French Canadian relatives were already firmly established on American soil by the time Dad's Italian family arrived in the early 20th century.
Intelligent and hard-working, my father's parents bought property, ran a few businesses, and refused to let their children speak anything but English. Dad learned to read and write at an early age by studying with his mother. Grandma and Grandpa became naturalized Americans; their bright little son entered first grade at the age of four and remained an eager student for the rest of his life.
Both of my parents served in World War II. They lived the American Dream, and passed on their work ethic and moral code to their children and grandchildren.
The Fourth of July celebrates the proud history of this country and of the immigrants who infused their energy into the nation. America is not perfect, but it is my country, and I'm proud to be an American.
"Little Uncle Sam" by Phil Scoville
"Gerald Solomon National Cemetery"