Italian Family Narrative

The big day had finally come. My family had been working on moving from Sydney for about four years. We had sold our house back then and as we needed a place to live, we were forced to move in with my mother’s parents. As my mother’s side of the family is Italian, I always learned to call them my Nonna and Nonnu. Nonna and Nonnu have always been my favourite grandparents, they were the stereotypical grandparents obviously with the exception that they were Italian. They had a very long house that was in Parramatta that was linked with Celestial Arts. This was Nonna’s business, she would teach art to students and parents. She was an excellent painter and seamstress, she would always be making something, even to this day.
Prior to leaving Sydney, the home I have lived in for nine years, I was told not to tell anyone that our family was leaving. This was one of the most heartbreaking experiences of my life. I have spent nine years strengthening friendships

Just outside of the art room there was a tight corner followed by a roundabout. Nonnu had just walked into the art room when there was a loud thud followed by the table holding the sewing machines shook violently. Nonnu ran faster than I have ever seen him run to help whoever or whatever had happened. He had heroism in his eyes and nothing was stopping him. Nonna and I followed behind him, much slower but eventually arrived outside to see a 20 foot tall truck capsized with coke cans everywhere. Nonnu was immediately helping the driver, making sure that he was okay. After the driver had confirmed he was okay, Nonnu began to start packing the coke cans back in the van (despite being impossible to sell the cans as they have been shaken, but it’s the thought that counts). Despite being rushed back inside to continue sewing, I have never forgotten the day when he helped a complete