At the Italian Club Parties, where women danced with women, men danced with men, and men and women danced with the kids (who weren't hiding under the tables), all the Sicilians would get together at some Moose Lodge or something and have a potluck dinner- dance. Music was provided - always - by my dad playing drums, Sammy playing guitar (a Gretsch, one of those classic sparkling guitars you KNOW he bought brand-new when he came over here in the sixties !Hell, he may have had a Gretsch Country Classic for all I know), Petro playing clarinet, and some husky guy rocking the hell out of a Farfisa. Man, those were the days. In those days, you ate what was served. I had a penchant for all things grotesque and fatty as a skinny child, so I gobbled up liver at home and tripe with peas at this party. Yes. Cow stomach lining. In a creamy pea sauce. I'll wait while you go take care of that vomit that just came up in your mouth...

...

I was all of six years old! Or seven.

Then, after slurping down tripe, we tried the wine, ran around all night long, danced to the groovy sounds of my dad's band (could life get any cooler?), chased each other around, sweated it out, and collapsed from sheer exhaustion, tripe long-digested.