Are you serious?” We were less than fifteen seconds into family night, and my sister Beth was already protesting the music that filled the apartment. “Show some respect for your heritage,” Dad said as he handed her some bell peppers and a cutting board. “And chop these while you’re at it.” “We’re only a quarter Italian,” she replied. “What about the parts of our heritage that made music, I don’t know, in the last century?” “You may only be a quarter Italian, but Molly’s a quarter too and I’m half,” he said. “Two quarters and a half, what does that add up to, Molls?” “One whole Italian,” I said, playing along with Dad’s logic. “There you go. There’s an entire Italian person in this kitchen, so be polite,” he said with a cheesy Italian accent. “Besides, you know the rules. Tonight’s my night and I get to pick.” The rules of family night are simple but firm. Every month we each get one evening to plan. It can be anything, as long as we’re all together.
