No One Ever Knows

What is my identity?

No one ever knows.

Am I Italian? Hungarian? English? Or all?

My nose says Hungarian,

The bridge says Italian,

My name says English,

Ancestry.com says French-Canadian.

As well as my Grandmothers, aunt’s, last name.

I hold traditions in high regard,

From Christian beliefs, to how I set the table.

Who cooks the turkey? You can’t forget the homemade pie!

You sit on that side, she sits on the other,

The baby always makes the place markers.

We all go to church, we call ourselves Catholic.

We’ve been baptized, eaten our First Communion,

Been Confirmed, and the other generations have been Married.

Anointing of the Sick has occurred, and Funerals have too,

We hold all traditions in high regard, but have we made them all?

The old Santa sits in the Christmas tree, the deteriorating tinsel tucked away,

We all strive to be successful, becoming nurses, teachers, husbands and wives,

Leaders, achievers, graduates and award winners.

We lose some, we gain some, and we will love each other until the end.

I’ll tell a lie, I have an identity.

I’ll tell the truth, I have an identity.

Culturally and with my family I do, inside the home, where it belongs.

Outside and in society I do not, for not everyone understands,

Not even I understand why an identity matters.