My Story (a sampling of what to expect in the Premier Memebership version)

by Frank Scozzari Adamo (Note: not completed)

 

Born in Tampa, i am most likely the only baby in our direct and indirect families whose photo at birth was published in the Tampa newspaper. Not because of me; but I was named named after my uncle, Lt. Col. Dr. Frank S. Adamo, a WWII hero and for which Adamo Dr. in Tampa was named after.

 

Though I became quite shy while growing up, I was not camera shy. My photo at birth was I grew up away from my parents familiesy in Springfield, IL. and unfortunately, I never knew my grandparents on either my dad's side or my mom's side of the family. My dad's father died of skin cancer in 1926 and though my grandmother was alive, she died when I wa lttle more than 2 years old. My mom's father died when my mom was 7 and her mother died 3 years later.  The 4 siblings were split up. My aunt was raised by her aunt. The two brothers, perhaps were left on their own. They became alcoholics, though I don't believe they were abusive. I'll have to ask my cousin. 

 

My mom was raised by a foster mother who was a teacher, and later became the Superindendent of Schools in Boulder, CO. She was killed in the mid 60s in a horrific accident when a truck jack knife in front of her car. I knew her and we saw her every couple of years; however, she knew nothing about The Family.

 

Regretfully, at the time I did not enjoy visiting The Families; however, I realized many years later, I was very fortunate, when I understood the value of visiting families, I grew up knowing both sides of my personal families. I wanted to visit  My parents didn't vacation only in the mountains, or stayed for days visiting sites, or taking a trip to the new Disneland where I could have met my love (and the love of illions of other boys my age), Annette Funicello. I was, at the time, so unattuned to my heritage, I didn't realize she was of Italian heritage like me.

 

You see, I never really understood my heritage until years after I was married and had a child of my own. And that's the point of this web site. How wonderful it would have been if I could have spent time on a site like this, conversing with my relatives and understanding

 

 

Uncle Emit. He, along with his family were farmers in Eastern Colorado.

 

S saw my mom's childhood home and the graveyard next to the home. I assume, my grandparent's home became a church, though I don't recall. We visited here only once and what a miserable ride . It was off the beaten path as it was located in NB. It was