A recurring thread in Half Italian is barbecued rabbit, something my family served every Easter Sunday. That's correct, Easter. And no, my childhood wasn't warped; we looked forward to this treat each year, prepared by the cousin I call "Mario," who raised the rabbits himself.
I attended Mario's 95th birthday party last Saturday, at the same farm where the Easter Sunday barbecue took place each year when I was growing up. It was also a celebration of Mario's 65th wedding anniversary. Both of them are still sharp as tacks, and in feisty humor.
A cousin who was visiting from Italy, seventeen and distractingly beautiful also attended. I wish I wasn't so shy about speaking Italian when my family visits; I always freeze, afraid to try. So, she practiced her English.
No barbecued rabbit this time, just lots of fun. How I love my family.