Today I write about the first conversation I had with someone that carries the same name I did when I was born: Parisotto. When your name is "Parisotto" and you live a small town like Springfield, Illinois, it is likely that you are somehow related. Ya think?!
Several months ago, I read an obituary of another Parisotto that lived in Springfield, Rudy Parisotto. After a few days of thinking about it, I took a deep breath and wrote in his on-line memorial guest book. I wrote something like, "Rudy seemed to have been a wonderful person that I would have loved to have known. I am somehow related."
I left my email address, and two people responded. One of these people, Rebecca Parisotto, corresponded with me over the last few months. On the day before what would have been Rudy's 79th birthday, Becky and I connected on the telephone.
As you would imagine, I melted down before I could tell her who was on the telephone. But then again, she already knew. We instantly connected. She was able to tell me a lot about the Parisotto (my birth father) side of the family, but knew nothing of my mother.
We talked via email and telephone all day yesterday. Who knew someone could go from laughing to crying to cursing (oh phor phuck's sake!) and back in 90 seconds or less...every 90 seconds!
We made plans to have me attend her mother's surprise 80th birthday party next month! (Don't tell...)
...and stay tuned!
....with a tear and a sigh....