Eeyyy listen’a everibodi! We need’a u help to make’a de comment anda share dis’a video because’a itsa help’a bloody youtuba make’a dis video become sick or somating like’a that... no no not’a sick! I make’a mistake! I was’a mean to say viral! Tank’a u Ptou you bastard!
I'm in tears. It's exactly how my father used to talk. Oh the memories. One day the cricket ball broke my dad's tomato plant, he chased me around the back yard till I was tired, then he whipped me with the hose. Great times.
I'm Anglo Aussie as kid growing up most of my friends were Greek & Italian it was fun especially with then Greeks would smash plates at ceremonies, and if I ever went to my Greek friend's house & if it was too quiet there was trouble in the air 🤣😂🤣👍 you guys are best.
HAHAHA. One time when i was little i was making something out of timber. I decided to spray paint it on nonna's concrete. She wasn't happy. So she got out the varachina (bleach) and washed it....it came off! She uses Bleach to clean everything lol.
@@blaZinthemBudz so funny man, yeah we had bottles varachina in the laundry my mum used if for everything as well man the smell lol .When we got new concrete laid my Dad made me wash it every Friday after school and if i didn't he was after me, mad Italian haha
This is my Romanian stepdad all over I'm dying hahaha. He was swearing at the cat the other week for shitting on his herb garden, the garlic in particular.
This made me laugh till I cried. So true, so funny, it was exactly like that back in the days but it made cry thinking of all the good times we had as a child, we can go back in time with memories but we are loosing that generation and that's the sad part.
My father in law, may he RIP, used to come for a visit and I'd find him watering our garden standing exactly like these guys. On one of his visits, he found me sitting on a garden chair, coffee in one hand hose in the other, watering.(true story). Aaaaaa, he says. That's how you young ones do it!!! I thought he would follow my way, but noooo. LOL
This is gold! My Italian grandfather said I no give my money to coles! Haha and once he asked me if I would ask my manager at coles if he could sell them some chickens said he would pluck them and everything. It was difficult to tell him they would never take chickens from him! Miss him!
This was my Nonna for sure!!! The amount of bags on the trees. The hose kills me 🤣🤣.... it reminds me when she used to just stand there exactly like that... then she would water the concrete 😂😂😂
Oh, don't even start on tomatoes. My lot grew tons of these and every year this Italian tomato sauce had to be made, which was like setting up an entire domestic manufacturing concern that went on for ages. It was made and packed into sterilised beer bottles which then had to be boiled in an old country style washhouse copper, fuelled by wood fire, as there was no gas or electricity in our remote rural community, yet. Eventually they would end up in cool storage, until the house because nobody owned refrigerators and summer temperatures often hit the high 30's or 40's Centigrade ie very hot rural heat. But the sauce never went off, even after years of bushfires or floods in the area.It was an ordeal growing the crops, making these preserves etc, putting them under the house and then also climbing under it's foundations, with deadly snakes, red back poisonous spiders etc to retrieve a bottle of sauce so mum could cook dinner with it. And guess who had to do that? Us kids, because we were small and could fit more easily under the house, to get the bottles of sauce. Oh, they also made vino and other stuff they stashed under the house, in holes in the ground, which they swapped with the Aussies who also made all sorts of things, like moonshine they wanted to swap for our stuff we made. They may have argued about many things but when it came to keeping "mum" about producing these illicit liquors, like the grappa, vino and the Aussie moonshine whisky, home brew beers etc, they all agreed to keep it very quiet. Then some others from elsewhere in the state would rock up from nowhere, unannounced, but nobody complained because they brought heaps of home grown illicit tobacco they grew wherever they came from. Everybody seemed so keen to have some. I tried a bit as a kid. It tasted foul. I could not understand why they all wanted it and we're keen to swap bottles of vino, grappa, moonshine, tomato sauce, fish, vegetables, fruit and anything else grown in our region to get some of this foul stuff. I thought that whatever we grew or made that was being traded for tobacco was far better and worth more than this tobacco rubbish they all desperately wanted. I couldn't understand why my father and Aussie mates couldn't just smoke normal packets of cigarettes... But, obviously, this homegrown illicit tobacco was much cheaper than smoking ready made cigarettes.
...and then one year there was heavy rain and it flooded on our land and the deep hole in the ground they had all helped did with just shovels and spades to keep the liquor etc cool in summer heat there flooded out. They grabbed us kids and sat is on a felled huge tree stump protruding above current flood waters rapidly rising and said "You see that hole?? Don't move or we make it your grave!" They were obviously worried sick but we kids just thought this whole scene was bizarre, though we knew about water safety from school lessons on this. Being the older kid and more intellectually inclined, I tried to soothe my younger crying brother, worried about being thrown into that hole, as they had threatened if we dated move. He said rigidly still, but I did move, though not off the tree stump because there was some pretty mucky looking "bad swimming water" around, not at all appetising, like the beach we knew was. I told him not to worry because that black hole they threatened us with was "full of bottles and jars", of stuff they had preserved, wines, beers, moonshine, even stashed of coins, heavily salted smoked Prosciutto, smoked salted fish, just like Christopher Columbus et alhad when they set sail to discover America, and, of course, according to dad, expert on all things "great" he was also a famous Roman, too, though I recall reading he was just a normal Italian guy whose theories upset the political/religious powers that be back home, so he had to get funding and approval for his maritime venture from the Queen of Spain, but that was not the case, according to dad, who had his own versions of all great historical events whose history he rewrote, to tell us kids the "correct story", a bit like happens nowadays I Australia with the native folk, I suspect..Eventually, after they somehow hauled their stuff out of the hole, to higher protruding tree stumps, they came towards us, to save us, too, but my brother was screaming out of control and I was a bit concerned, too. Because the black hole they called "the food cellar" was now empty and, yes, we two kids could fit in there now and be buried, still alive...For daring to defy their orders to not move. But they only grabbed us and hoisted us high on their shoulders heading towards other folks coming to see if everybody was surving OK. I remember thinking how great the view from up there was. Not very pretty scenery, just yellow and brown, red yukky flood waters colored by soil pigments, but you could see for acres and acres. They were all shouting "We saved it...We saved it..". And some other religious Christian ethnic type said "Good job!" And my father agreed, saying "We have the vino. We have courage for anything..." He opened a bottle and gave us two very scared kids a sip each.They had no idea that what they had threatened us with was the reason we needed the bottled "courage" he was feeding us, not the flooding itself.. Kids don't see such events through the same eyes as adults but when parents threaten discipline for defying them, it is very real and scary to them.We thought they were mad, as they kept bugging us, stroking our hair, trying to feed us some of the food they had saved, sloshing around knee deep in flood water and debris. Ethnic "bush picnic" style...Then some Aussies appeared. Tall guys built like a solid brick shit house, unemotional, unlike frantic panicky ethnic folk all yelling, cursing, praying to God for help etc, blaming human evil for God's wrath and punishment with floods etc etc. "Better see if the wogs are OK" I heard one say to his other Aussie mate. But we were fine now, my father replied, offering them chunks of his Parma Ham prosciutto and bottle of vino he boasted he had made from nothing, just like Jesus Christ did with his loaves and fishes act. Bred the pig for the prosciutto, reared it, slaughtered it I remember that terrible day, too, because that pig was my pet I had to feed and care for daily, so I loved him. He even had a name,but on the day the men sluaghtered him I was ordered inside the house and to stay I my room, draw the curtains. But I could hear him squealing as they plunged the knife into his heart, after stunning him with their 14lb workplace hammers...It was so emotionally heart wrenching...After that I simply refused to eat meat but was threatened with the same fate as my pet pig if I persisted with such whimsical stupid behaviour or I could leave the family, go live alone and live off forest blackberries,instead. I had tried that after a few disagreements with parents, but soon discovered how hungry you get trying to just live off bush berries.So, I tried to eat the meat they dished up. By rationalising that the pets' spirit would live in me and be a part of me, just like in Christian Holy Communion. Albeit somewhat heretical religious thinking...There were no clergy for hundreds of bush miles, but, even so, dad also became the family authority on all things spiritual and religious as well, informing us that God had put man in charge of his people, like a "Deputy God" and wehad to obey his instructions or God's wrath(more like his own male temper and wrath) would fall heavily on all recalcitrant, questioning humanity. He looked at me and I feigned docile female obedience. This was not like the kind gentle Jesus God the other kids who went to Sunday School talked about in the play ground. It just didn't make sense. And I didn't like it.
I feel so robbed my great grandparents didn't live long enough for me to meet them. This reminds me so much of stories of them. I'm laughing, but tears keep coming out.
🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 this is sooooo funny… reminds me once one of my cousins must of spat a chewing gum in Nonno’s garden….. weeeeellllll, for decades he couldn’t stand anyone who ate chewing gum and it was around the time Kylie Mole was on comedy company…… still laugh to this day…. They used to blow up for nothing 🤣🤣🤣🤣
When I was a kid in the 80’s, our next door neighbour was a Greek dude name of Socrates and he was just like these guys. His yard was 99% vegetable gardens. I accidentally kicked my footy into his garden, there was no way I was going in to get it. Told my dad it got pinched at school, that was easier than getting caught in his garden.
...anyway, the dunny can had to be emptied weekly and the domestic shit was laid to rest in a deep grave she dug in the garden, to enrich the soil, as ethnics are big on sustainable living they have been doing for centuries. Nothing ends up as waste. Everything has a use and gets recycled, out of economic necessity or habit, not just to be trendy and practise sustainability to prevent climate change, which they couldn't care less about...Once this shit hole was covered, she then decided we needed to grow "Medicina" (medicinal plants), since there were no doctors for hundreds of miles and even if there were any, who could afford to see one if sick? There was no Medicare or welfare...We kids caught everything, from the most serious life threatening diseases, like Polio, whooping cough, diptheria, tetanus, tuberculosis etc to the most trivial things every kid got as part of "growing up" eg 2 batches of different strains of measles, mumps, chicken pox and the usual things. Allergies and asthma didn't even count as sickness. They just told you to stop scratching, wheezing and carrying on and leave it alone to settle down, breathe more etc. One Aussie kid was made to do half an hour of hard, very deep breathing with his tyrannical mum whacking him on the back ordering "You breathe or there'll be trouble, boy" . My ethnic ones were not quite so severe. They just opened the bedroom window so that frosty cold air could rush into our poor wheezy little sick asthmatic lungs, with no heating whatsoever in houses there, in Sub zero winter temperatures. They figure lack of fresh air was our proble.Ethnic parents issued instructions to sick kids like: Either get well fast or die, but hurry up about it. We have got to work to get you food so we can't be sitting holding your hand..." Mine tricked us into getting well faster by promising us some treat if we got well fast. We wanted it because we had no toys or fun trips or treats. So this did work to motivate us to stop being sickly kids, even though some, like me, were not very robust healthwise as kids. I still have scars from all the bad "school sores" most kids got, which teachers painted bright red with Mercurochrome antiseptic ointment or some evil looking yellow ointment. Not to mention my goanna bite scar that took ages to heal up, as Gianna's carry a lot of bacteria in their bite. So mum decided we needed medicines to protect her family and she drew on European ancient folk medicine wisdom passed down through generations. One of these was opium from the opium poppy as a pain killer, used to help with childbirth etc. I have no idea where she got the seeds but she planted a crop of such opium poppies over she shit hole bed she'd dug and filled in. They are very lush and produced beautiful flowers I wanted to pick. But we were forbidden to touch those flowers, though we had no idea why. Then she said "Medicines are dangerous. They can kill you..." Eventually the poppies disappeared. But, whatever she made out of them was never within our reach or visible to us kids. It went into a lofty, solid, locked cabinet. Waiting for some extreme need to use opium to relieve some very extreme pain. Alcohol and tobacco addiction was commonplace where we lived. But nobody took drugs like cocaine, heroin etc, like now. A few Latinos sometimes used a bit of "Mari Juana" they sometimes grew, along with cooking herbs, like Rosemary etc but nobody thought of this common weed as a medicine or even as a worthwhile recreational drugs because alcohol tasted far better and was more social fun. But probably more dangerous, too.
No!Please spare us! I can recall these. I liked salt on my food. Mainly because my ethnic father had an annoying habit of tracing everything back to the Romans, who, according to him, had invented everything...He told me they used salt to pay Roman soldiers, as it was precious and hence the English word "salary" meaning pay for work and sayings like "worth his salt" etc. In my 6old year old mind, I concluded salt must be pretty good stuff to consume and so I would eat as much of the stuff as I could lay hands on, even competing with the cows, who like to lick it off rocks I paddocks.We were sitting eating the specially weekly Sunday family meal and I reached for the salt I a large container to pour a few spoonful on my meal and he glared at me and said "Have some food with your salt, won't you!?!" He then picked up the whole quarter kilo of salt and poured it on my meal and made me eat it all covered in salt, so I might learn a lesson about doing things in excess. I protested I was thirsty from so much salt. He ignored my tears and started to tell some story about Christopher Columbus setting sail on the brimy sea, full of salt, with salted cod fish and salted food as their only source of good on a journey they had no idea where they were heading, so why am I complaining about a bit of salt..."But dad, it wasn't just a bit of salt you put on my dinner. It was a ton.And then you said I do things in excess..." He just replied "Shut up and be grateful. The Romans used salt to reward their soldiers. If it was good enough for brave Roman warriors, it's good enough for you. Just shut up and eat it!" And I thought, well, salt may have been precious for the Romans but I think I would rather be paid with other things. Maybe sugar, or even money...
Sand in an Italian band, got to know the guys and their families who used to joke about their parents ways and impersonate their accents and misuse of language JUST LIKE THIS. This SO needed to be caputured! Captured brilliantly! Hilarious!
Oh man, I was helping dad with the cover for the fig tree today... testing times farken. Gonna be bumper fig season... maybe 50-60kilo, the nice green ones, not those shit red hard ones.
Love figs. Especially the big dark Genoa ones. Italians serve them on a cheese platter with fine cheeses etc. I also like those sticky sugary preserved figs some Greeks used to serve us with dark thick Turkish coffee in tiny cups when we visited them. I know where there's a wild fig tree growing and I am watching it's fruit mature. As soon as they ripen, I will race the wild birds to eat the figs straight off the tree. It is quite a competition because the birds here are pretty numerous, feral, aggressive, squawking as they descend on a tree, even attacking humans who try to eat the fruit, as if to say "Bugger off our nature. This is our tree, our food supply, our territory!" I've been attacked by angry pecking wild birds a few times when I tried to pick wild fruit, like figs. They are too costly to buy in the supermarket but So can recall a time when gig trees and lemon trees laden with fruit were common and people would give them away for free, just to get rid of so many fruits they could not use.Lemons have many good uses, not just for eating eg for cleaning, bleaching, for hair etc. But his had to be eaten. Aussie women made fig jam that nobody seemed keen on but they don't just eat them, like Mediterranean people do and love them. In Latin cultures, the fig fruit symbolises the female gender. Because the inside of a ripe fig looks like a miniature female womb. So, it is a pretty sexy fruit... The more figs you eat, the more feminine and sexy and appealing to the male gender you become. So, if you think you are an unattractive female, fear not. Just eat more figs and men will find you irresistible and your old worried ethnic parents need no longer stress out trying to arrange a marriage for you. Male suitors will be lining up to meet such a fertile woman...
One of your best fellas..when I was about 3yo my Yiayia used to cut the hottest raddishes into a star shape and tell us kids she grew her own lollies better than the ones at the shop..😂🤣 she would laugh for an hour while I ran looking for the garden hose..
We had some Ukrainian friends who always seemed to have "things from the city" nobody else had but wished they did. They were not competitive types, very "socialistic", caring, sharing with those less fortunate, despite being poor themselves, trying to farm in a dirty swamp that flooded regularly. My father once asked the "Rushkie man" how he got a car, admiring it. The man replied words almost identical to these. "I no buy new. I buy brand new second hand 1945 model". On freezing Sub zero winter mornings, bright and early, I would hear these men wielding spanners, crow bars, hammers etc beating up the car to make it go, cursing and swearing at it until it started to slitter and cough out all this dirty smelly smoke. A kookaburra sat on the high radio aerial my father had erected, to pick up distant Melbourne or Sydney amen US radio station I our area, which only could normally pick up two. He did that because he said Marconi, inventor of the radio was even smarter than Leonardo Da Vinici and, guess what, he was a Roman, too, though some would dispute that. However nobody dared contradict him openly because we knew what would happen if we we dared defy his wise pronouncements as "head of this family".... All "God's wrath and fury" on us all. When one of the men rolled that old heap of a car driving with no license at night, drunk, with only one feeble head light, trying to dodge a kangaroo that made its own natural road laws, we were so relieved. It just sat I the bush, rusting away. Us kids would go there, to pick wild blackberries to feast on, as we sat in the rusted out old car playing a game we called "Broom, vroom", imagining we had a car and went to the city to buy nice things...It went on for hours and was great fun as we took turns at "driving" ie playing with the steering wheel, until one day, we noticed we had an extra passenger, a big black snake that obviously wanted to also hitch a ride to town with us. We bolted. Preferring to walk instead...
This is my dad and his choc mates all over Wow sad to say that when there gone that's it that generation is all over we will never come close to being like them but will have memories to last a lifetime keep up the good work u guys are doing yr doing a great job 🤣🤣🤣
2:48 Can so relate to this!! This was pretty much my Nonno watering his backyard garden with the hose as well, except not as exaggerated here of course! 😂
My maternal grandpa was seventh generation American of mostly British/Irish descent. He was born and raised on a small turkey farm in Great Depression/ww2 era California. These dads are wearing his clothes and saying things he and my paternal grandpa constantly said all the time when I was growing up in the 1980's - 90's in CA. I know I got my two green thumbs from those two men. Paternal granddad was a Kansas farm boy with equal garden pride in his retirement. Thanks for reminding me of those dear old farts a decade after they each got a fruit tree planted over their ashes. Here's to Grandpa Pat and Grandpa Bob, shouting randomly into the house at nobody about eating healthy fresh vegetables or criticising supermarket fruit with a tall glass of iced bourbon in one hand and a lit cigarette dangling from their bottom lip. 😂
