My grandfather brought his small family (a wife and daughter) from sicily during world war 1. He lived in 'Hell's kitchen', worked as a plasterer all his life and ended up with 3 sons and 4 daughters. One day, while playing on a pile of snow on the busy Mahattan streets, his youngest son, philip, slipped and fell under the wheel of an ice wagon. He was crushed to death. My grandparents decided to try for another child to replace Philip. They succeeded and the eighth child, a boy, was named after the 1st Philip. That child was my father. My father entered the army late into WW2 and served in europe. While on a leave in England, he and a friend started flirting with some local gals eating ice cream. My father asked one of the girls if he could see her again; she wrote down an address and said for him to meet her there the following day. Sunday morning my father went to the address. the girl was waiting on the steps of a church and took him to mass. My father fell in love. In 1945 he returned to the states but kept writing to his English 'sweetheart'. He asked her to marry him. Her father said if he really loved her he would pay her way to the United states. He sent 'steerage' money for the trip in late 1947. She arrived in New York City on the 31st of december, 1947, her birthday--she was 18. Seven days later they were married and 9months and 3 weeks later I was born! I still marvel over what it took for me to make it to planet earth. tragic death, world war, sacrifice AND TRUE LOVE ALL HAD A HAND.