When I was a young child, I assumed everyone in Troy was Italian. Heck, I thought the whole world was paisan. And why wouldn't I? My two neighborhoods growing up were filled with names that ended in vowels.

My life started at 7 Havermans Ave., surrounded by my cousins, the Brunos, Clementes, Pitanellos, Montellos, Sorrentos and Ciccarellis. You could walk and grab a meal from the fruit trees that lined the streets, or go up the path that led to Prospect Park for another free snack.

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Source: http://www.troyrecord.com/