First Memories

What is your first memory? 

I stopped recently to take some time to think about my first memory. Some people have first memories as early as two or three years old. I can't seem to remember back that far. My first memory is when I had just turned five years old. It was November 1963. I remember walking up our sidewalk at my parent's house. I must have been coming home from kindergarten. It was a simple time to be a child. We walked home from school, which was nearly a mile from our house, with our friends. The bus, if there was one, didn't stop at every house and parents didn't wait in minivans at the school or the end of the street.

Anyway, I walked into the house and my mother was sitting in the living room watching TV and crying. I was upset that she was crying. I think I asked her why she was crying but I don't remember her answer. I'll have to ask her if she remembers. Her memory is unbelievable for an 81-year-old! I know now that she was watching either the news reports of President Kennedy's assassination or she was watching the actual funeral.

I don't have another memory until I was seven years old. It was February 1965 and my Aunt Anna, my Dad's sister, had died of cancer at the age of 47. My cousins and I were all left at my grandparent's house on the day of the funeral. We were playing in my aunt's room while all of our relatives and family friends came to the house after the funeral. I remember we opened the bedroom door and peaked out into the living room. I remember seeing a large group of people that I could barely make out through a thick haze of cigarette smoke. Everyone smoked back then - indoors, outdoors, in cars, restaurants, everywhere.

Those are the first two memories I have. I'm not sure why I don't remember anything in between the ages of five and seven. I wish I did.

Memorial Day 2009

Memorial Day 2009 at our house represented a landmark event for two reasons: we had more than 50 people in attendance and I had invited six recently discovered second cousins and their families. Here's how it happened. Several months ago, in my obsessive quest to discover and preserve my family history, I had searched my last name on Facebook. When I found a bunch of people with the last name Sardo, I sent out a message that said, "my grandfather was born in Sicily in 1883. He immigrated to the United States in 1907 and lived on North Spring Street in Ansonia, CT. I am looking for people related to us."

I received several emails from people in Italy - two still communicate with me, even though we are not related and they send the emails in Italian, so I don't know what they say! One man, who had the same name as my grandfather, Guiseppe Sardo, told me that Sardo was a common surname in Italy and that he lived in northern Italy and did not think we were related.

Then, I received an email from a guy who lives in Shelton, CT who said his grandfather had also lived on North Spring Street in Ansonia. It turns out he is the son of my Dad's first cousin, making he and his siblings my second cousins. My grandfather Guiseppe, and their grandfather, Francesco, were brothers! It represents my greatest discovery so far! So I met Frank, his brother Joe and sister Regina. They have three other siblings. Their parents, Albert and Connie Sardo, had died in 1968 and 1969, respectively, leaving the kids without parents. At the time, the youngest was only five years old.

When they heard my Dad, at 80, was still alive and well, they just wanted to talk to him about their parents. All of their aunts and uncles on the Sardo side had passed except for one, who is in a nursing home and doesn't remember very much.

Long story short, all six of my second cousins came to our picnic with spouses and children and grandchildren. It was incredible! My cousins brought photo albums, my Dad told stories about their mom and dad. Frank later left me a phone message telling me the stories my Dad shared about his father were priceless.

The amazing part of all of this is that the people who contacted me in Italy are not related to me, yet these six people who are my second cousins live in Shelton, Beacon Falls and Seymour, where I live! They've been here all along, going about their lives while we've gone about ours.

Now that we've connected, we plan to stay in touch. Without a doubt, finding family members living is a much bigger rush than finding those that have passed. These six people that I did not know several months ago all have a unique story that is also intertwined with my family history. That's what makes it so compelling.

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