Dad's passing stirs memories of tiny kitchens
Some early childhood memories have been popping into my head with increasing frequency. Given the current situation, I guess that's to be expected. But these memories seem to be focused on family gatherings where, despite my young age and incredible cuteness, I was not a significant participant nor even entirely welcome. Prisco-Mangione kitchen during a meal. The gatherings, as best I can recall, occurred fairly often within cramped kitchens of a number of Bronx apartments after family meal times. The kitchens, with roughly the same dimensions as a large shoebox, included the usual sink, stove, fridge and cabinets, along with a steam-heat pipe or radiator, and a table engulfed by skinny chairs. Despite tight quarters, there always seemed to be plenty of room around the table for my parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, whoever happened to stop by. Somewhat miraculously, it seemed every adult human I knew in the world at that time could find a way to squeeze in around the ...
