A Family Holiday Circus: Memories from Garden Road

Ah, the holidays—a time for joy, togetherness, and cramming 18 people into a 900-square-foot house with one bathroom and no dishwasher. Welcome to Garden Road in Rocky Point, New York, where my grandparents transformed a tiny house into the epicentre of Italian-American holiday madness. The house was built by my grandfather and his sons in 1940 and, much like our family gatherings, was held together with love, ingenuity, and probably a little duct tape. Let me set the scene for you…

A Cozy (Read: Overcrowded) Italian Getaway

The Feast: Calories Galore, Dishes for Days

Italian holiday meals weren’t just meals; they were culinary marathons. First came the antipasto: meats, cheeses, and olives, piled high like a savoury mountain. Then, stuffed artichokes that required the patience of a saint to eat, followed by baked ziti, lasagne, or ravioli. There were nuts still in their shells for some post-meal cardio, a main course of meats, vegetables, and starches, and desserts ranging from cannoli to Aunt Julie’s legendary crumb cake. Sometimes, as a special treat, Uncle Frank would let the kids have a tiny glass of a whiskey sour slushie—because nothing says “holiday cheer” like a cocktail-flavoured brain freeze!

All this food was consumed in a house where 18 people shared one tiny bathroom. The true family bonding wasn’t around the table—it was in the queue for the toilet.

And then there were the dishes. With no dishwasher in sight, we relied on the family assembly line: one washed, one dried, and several more “supervised.”

Outdoor Adventures: Chaos on Sand

When we weren’t terrorising the hammock, we dug holes in the sand, started (small) fires with magnifying glasses, or lowered our “Dipsy Doodle Doll” into a water well in ceremonies that probably terrified the neighbours. I’d like to think we were channeling our inner witches, but it’s also possible we were just very weird kids.

The Beach and Beyond

On sunny days, we ventured to the Long Island Sound, rolling down sand dunes so tall they felt like Mount Everest to our tiny legs. A walk to the mysterious “Dragon House” added a sense of danger and intrigue, though to this day, no one remembers why it was called that.

We also invaded a local playground with a rocket ship, scattering other kids with our battle cry: “The Brigandis are here!” There’s something about a stampede of ten cousins that inspires terror and awe.

Quiet Moments (kind of)

Back at the house, we napped in my grandmother’s bed—10 sandy, sticky kids sprawled out like a litter of puppies in a tangled dog pile. Her bed was a masterpiece, made with such precision it could’ve graced a suite at the Waldorf Astoria. How she ever allowed us to pile in remains a mystery. Maybe it had something to do with the shrine on her dresser, featuring a solemn Bleeding Heart of Jesus. With His watchful gaze bearing down on us, perhaps she believed no child would dare misbehave. Spoiler: she overestimated our holiness.

The Legacy of Garden Road

Looking back, the holidays at Garden Road weren’t perfect—they were loud, crowded, and filled with enough food to feed a small army. But they were also filled with laughter, love, and the kind of memories that stick with you forever (much like the sand in Grandma’s bed).

Would I trade those times for a more modern, spacious holiday? Never. There’s something magical about making it work, even when it seems impossible. After all, if we could fit 18 people in that tiny house, we can handle anything life throws our way.