Growing up in Southern Italy, my mother — who had been raised in the U.S. years prior — would often tell my sister and I stories about Thanksgiving. “There’s always a giant turkey,” she would explain to us, and everyone expresses what he or she is thankful for. I must admit, in hindsight, my 8- or 9-year-old self didn’t much grasp the concept of this Holiday. For one thing, turkeys are rare in Italy, so I had never seen one, let alone stuffed!

Picturing one roasted was a bit hard! And why a day to say thanks? Can’t it be said everyday? Despite my hesitation toward the holiday, I was very much looking forward to it in 1988, our first year in the States. My mom, whose heart had always longed to return to Boston, was very excited about it, and eager to teach us what this Holiday meant. It was her favorite one after all, and it would soon become mine as well.