Personal and Cultural Background of a Social Worker, Summaries of Social Work

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Cultural Self- Inventory Jennifer Corraro Arkansas State Department of Social Work Social Justice and Diversity (SW-5063-10A) Dr. Rejoice Addae January 21, 2024

I was born May 8, 1973, in New Haven Connecticut. We lived in what was known as “Little Italy” in New Haven. Surrounded by several Italian bakeries, restaurants, and pizza places. New Haven is the home of Pepe’s Pizza, known as one of the best brick oven pizzas in the state. Growing up in an Italian Catholic family had many different stages. I can see looking back my anxiety/depression gave me a very different experience than my sister who was only three years older and my brother three years younger. I was a very quiet and shy child with an extreme fear of men, of all ages including boys in my grade growing up. Being left-handed as well as an artist I always thought and felt different than my siblings. My sister is the oldest, my brother is the youngest and I am the middle child with the typical middle child syndrome. My older sister and younger brother were your typical popular athletes who were good at everything they did. I had a hard time relating to them and was not close to either of them until I became an adult. I have always had great compassion for others and a desire to want to help those in need. My siblings were all about themselves and very self-absorbed growing up, the complete opposite of me. Though I felt very alone and not understood most of my life, that has changed in the past ten years. My first job was at an Inn cleaning the rooms and doing laundry. After that, I had many short-lived jobs at gas stations and retail stores, and due to my anxiety and depression jobs did not last long for me. My father and I weren’t close growing up he used to scare me when he would come home from work and start yelling. I understand now how hard it was for him especially because he got laid off a lot and he was the breadwinner in the family. For years we did not understand each other especially when I was a teenager. When he grew up things were very different compared to the way it was when I did. He had to survive daily growing up in a poor family and

relationships, especially with my dad. She is a perfect example of what happens to someone who does not get help for their trauma my sister and I see all the areas of her life that have been affected by that. My father grew up and lived in New Haven all his life until after my parents were married and started having kids. It wasn’t an easy childhood for him especially because they were poor, and his father had a serious gambling problem. He said his parents fought all the time about giving a woman some money he did not know what that was about until he was around fifty years old. His father had a child with another woman, his only daughter he was devastated. Unfortunately, it was common for married Italian men at that time to also have girlfriends. When that happened, I was in my twenties and has changed my thoughts on my family and raised so many more questions I do not have the answers to. In an Italian family as a child, you were seen and not heard, and you did not ask questions. Now knowing these things as an adult, I understand why. There were mafia ties and bookies in the family, and it didn’t help my grandfather had serious drinking and legal problems. That is still all I know because you still don’t ask questions. My father showed me photos of the neighborhood he grew up in when I interviewed him. He lived across the street from the Black Panther’s headquarters, surrounded by Italian Mafia-owned homes and businesses. It was not the safest area back then and today it is one of the most violent neighborhoods in the city of New Haven. I wasn’t that close with my mother’s family even though they were only a town over from my dad’s family. My grandfather was one hundred percent Italian, and his parents were straight off the boat from Italy. Though they came to America when they were only eighteen my great-great-grandfather died at thirty- five and his wife, my great-grandmother died at one hundred and six years old. However, years

later my brother got dual citizenship to play pro baseball in Italy. He needed my great- grandmother’s birth certificate that is when we discovered she had a year off all her life. She was actually 107 when she passed away. She used to say the reason she lived so long was that she didn’t have a man in her life, and she drank a glass of red wine daily that she made in her basement. I remember her ninetieth birthday party when I was a small child. She came running out dressed as super woman running around with her cape flowing, something I will never forget. I always wished I got to know her as a person, but I could never understand her unfortunately she never learned how to speak English. Through my brother's venture to receive dual citizenship in Italy, we also found out there was a pope in our family, Pope Gregory Xll. He was born Angelo Corraro in Venice Italy in the year 1327 and died October 18, 1417. He was the pope, and head of the Catholic Church from November 30, 1406, to July 4, 1415, when he was in his eighties. Family was always important growing up but by my teen years, divorce became the norm with aunts and uncles. From then on, I didn’t see a lot of my relatives anymore except my father’s immediate family. After grandparents passed things changed and we only saw relatives at weddings and funerals. When it comes to holidays, like most occasions it is all about spending time with family. The holidays my family has always celebrated are Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter. Growing up every holiday except Christmas Day was spent with my grandparents. Ever since my grandparents passed my parents have had Christmas at their house. For us and in typical Italian tradition we do a big seafood feast on Christmas Eve, it is my favorite holiday. The past two years have become increasingly difficult with my mother’s issues from her dementia. In our

around town to look at all the windows. After holiday dinner and dessert, another Italian tradition, we drank liquor called grappa or amaro, which is said to help digestion. Growing up in the catholic church I was led to believe it was the only religion that was true and mattered. I was not taught about other religions but was told the Jewish religion was wrong however when I was told Jesus was Jewish it baffled me. We had a fearful God that I was petrified of as a kid. I was baptized as a baby, got my communion in second grade, and was supposed to get confirmed when I was in ninth grade. When I had to do my confirmation meeting with the priest, he asked me why I was there and if I wanted to get confirmed. I told him that my parents were making me. For the first time, someone talked to me about what I thought and felt instead of being told what to think. My parents were not happy when I told them the priest said he would not confirm me, my reason made them very angry with me. I told the priest I did not believe a lot in the catholic religion. In our family that was not something you questioned. You went to church and lived by their rules. I believed in God but not a fearful punishable God and I still feel that way today. From that day on I stopped going to church with them. When I had my first child it was with my ex-husband, we weren’t married yet. They wanted to buy me a diamond ring because it was not acceptable to have a child out of wedlock in our family. I found out my mother went to talk to the priest and asked if her granddaughter was going to go to hell because I wouldn’t baptize her. I always felt it should be the child’s decision when they learn about different religions then they can follow what they believe in. When it started coming out about priests molesting boys and not being held accountable just moved around to different churches it was a big argument with my parents. About fifteen years

ago I noticed my parents stopped going to church and found out my father finally agreed with me about the acceptance the church was making for these priest molesting children. When I was five years old, we moved to Madison, Ct. a small, preppy, rich shoreline town. My father was an electrician, and my mom was a stay-at-home mom until I was about twelve years old. Growing up in Madison, we did not fit in with the rich and they made it known. One day we were outside doing our chores, raking leaves and we saw all the neighbors walking down the street with dishes of food. I remember my mom crying that day and overhearing my dad talking to her about us being Italian and him being a blue-collar worker we may never fit in. It wasn’t until recently that I found out my father hated living in the house, which surprised me because he worked so hard to move his family to a nice safe place. When I asked him, he explained how hard it was being treated poorly by neighbors because we were Italian, and a “blue collar” worker. I never knew how bad it was or how much it bothered him until he told me that. They were able to afford a home in Madison by doing most of the work on the house themselves. We built and lived in three different houses in that town, where they still live house today. We did not have the money for vacations but once a year we would drive to Lake George New York for a long weekend. They used to have great amusement parks a storybook one, western/Indian, and an animal park called Jungle Habitat. When I became an adult, my father was so dedicated to the electrical union that he eventually was voted in to be a national rep for them. He finally turned in his dirty work boots for ties and nice clothes. Their lives changed drastically for the better, all that hard work and dedication paid off. Though they set up a nice retirement for themselves my mother was

police that told me that law that day. If I wanted my kids back, I had to take him to court it was not only now his house but the kids too and I had no say. I started drinking that day and didn’t stop for a month until my family approached me about getting help. No matter what I have ever done when I needed help my family has always been there. Addiction and recovery have become a big part of my family with my children. Today I have seven years clean and an amazing relationship with my children, unfortunately, I can’t say the same about their father. He has not changed much which has left the kids with a father who doesn’t know how to love the way they deserve to be loved. Living with my parents my son has found a father figure in my dad it has been amazing for them both. Even though my daughters don’t live here I think they also look at my father that way too. I was not close to my father growing up, and even through all my problems he cared but he did not know how to show it. Today he is probably my best friend and someone who I look up to and admire what a good person he is. My children have a very different grandfather than I did a dad, and I wouldn’t change it for the world because they need that fatherly love and support their father has never given them. This was a great assignment, and I can now see how it will help benefit me being a social worker. Learning more about my Italian heritage and family has opened my eyes to how much it plays a role in my upbringing and my life today. When working with clients from different heritages I can now see how much of that has made them who they are. It has helped remind me that we are all different and no one culture is better than the next. In social work, it is important to be as open-minded and compassionate as you can be. My family and my culture have given me those great qualities that I will use to help others.