[originaltext] My mother was born in a small town in northern Italy. She was

My mother was born in a small town in northern Italy. She was three when her parents immigrated to America in 1926. They lived in Chicago when my grandfather worked making ice cream. Mama thrived in the urban environment. At 16, she graduated first in her high school class, went onto secretarial school, and finally worked as an executive secretary for a railroad company. She was beautiful too. When a local photographer used her pictures in his monthly window display, she felt pleased. Her favorite portrait showed her sitting by Lake Michigan, her hair went blown, her gaze reaching toward the horizon. My parents were married in 1944. Dad was a quiet and intelligent man. He was 17 when he left Italy. Soon after, a hit-and-run accident left him with a permanent limp. Dad worked hard selling candy to Chicago office workers on their break. He had little formal schooling. His English was self-taught. Yet he eventually built a small successful wholesale candy business. Dad was generous and handsome. Mama was devoted to him. After she married, my mother quit her job and gave herself to her family. In 1950, with three small children, dad moved the family to a farm 40 miles from Chicago. He worked land and commuted to the city to run his business. Mama said goodbye to her parents and friends, and traded her busy city, neighborhood for a more isolated life. But she never complained.