The man you can almost see in these photos is named Mike Ciocca, or as some may know him, Iron Mike. Or as even others, like myself, may call him, this man is known as Papa.

Papa was a handsome full-blooded Italian man who married a beautiful full-blooded German woman. They had nine children. I repeat: NINE. One of these children was my mother (her name is Delores and if you follow me on Instagram you’ve probably seen some hilarious screenshots of her text messages to me. But I digress…)

My Papa passed away last week. And I wanted to share these photographs of him. He would never let me photograph him, just to be awnry. But boy was it fun to chase him (and be chased BY him!) around the kitchen, trying to get the perfect portrait of him.

I thought these photographs were rejects because you couldn’t see his face, but now I realize that you can see everything that matters.
•The kitchen that he fed his 9 children in, and the kitchen that later became the staple of my large Italian family’s social life.
•His toned arms (from working construction his whole life. Seriously, he worked until his body literally could not work anymore) and his bread belly from eating bags of National Bakery’s hardrolls.
•His crooked pinky that I always noticed, stared at, and even admired.
•A little bit of his dyed black hair. It wasn’t until I was about 14 that I realized he dyed his hair. That sneaky Italian.

I’m so proud of my family. What an honour to have been born into a big, loud, LOVING, and pasta making Italian family. I was able to go home for a few days and it was unreal to see my family come together like that.

Here’s Mike Ciocca. Iron Mike. Papa.