“Why doesn’t someone write my story?” my mom has often said in the presence of her daughters. One of us had to take on this authoritative entreaty posed as a question. I decided it would be me.
Years ago, right before my dad, Vincenzo Lucarino, passed away, I had planned on writing his life story. I knew it would be adventurous and colorful and, ultimately, sad. Traveling to America at 17, working for the Mafia, joining the American army, going AWOL to marry my mom in Italy, bringing her to America, to Cleveland, to start a family.
