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| rdfs:comment | - It was late in the summer of '37. I was 10 years old. My grandpapie, an Italian immigrant with a sardine addiction and possible connections to a defunct mafia family, owned a zucchini plantation in California. I was working on the plantation with my older brother and my three sisters. My parents were back in Frisco working at Papie's grocery store. We didn't have any work to do in Frisco, so our parents "loaned" us out to Grandpapie. Grandpapie had lost all his cheap Mexican farm hands after he got into an argument with the leader of the band, so the five of us kids had to harvest the wide fields of zucchini.
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| dcterms:subject | |
| abstract | - It was late in the summer of '37. I was 10 years old. My grandpapie, an Italian immigrant with a sardine addiction and possible connections to a defunct mafia family, owned a zucchini plantation in California. I was working on the plantation with my older brother and my three sisters. My parents were back in Frisco working at Papie's grocery store. We didn't have any work to do in Frisco, so our parents "loaned" us out to Grandpapie. Grandpapie had lost all his cheap Mexican farm hands after he got into an argument with the leader of the band, so the five of us kids had to harvest the wide fields of zucchini.
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