In May of 1948, you were in the back of a wooden bed of a Piaggio Ape between the door and your mother, Darla, as she sat between you and your step-father, Moe. You stared out and watched as Florence, Tuscany past by. You saw building, a few trolleys, beautiful green scenery, and people. The vibration of the ape car was rocking you to sleep; you were rather exhausted from traveling. You have been on ships and trains for hours with barley enough time to sleep, moving around from New York to Italy. This can be a bit much for a seven year old.
Your mother patted your knee for confront, but it did not help. You was nervous, your mother and step-father had been financial struggling and were having hard time feeding the three of you. A week before you went onto the ship to come to Italy, your family was evicted from your little run-down apartment. It was than your mother deiced to take you to your biological father to stay with until your mother and step