I always dreamed of America as a place with golden streets and golden opportunities, well I was right about the opportunity but the streets were far from golden. When papa was finally able to afford me and mamas fare for the boat ride to New York, I found out my beautiful picture of America was all wrong. I swear the letters papa wrote to mama and I in Sicily made this place seem like heaven. But when we pulled up to the dock I saw hell. The streets were full of winos and hookers, but seeing papa for the first time in four years made all that fade away. Papa owned a bakery off Main Street it was definitely on the rise it took a few years but the place was doing very well or so I thought. He was a rough looking man, my father, but a great man he should have been a saint. He was lucky to have my mother she was a saint, and a beautiful one at that. Walking that street even with its horrid smells and disgusting people seemed to be alright with me since I was with my parents. They loved each other and me; we would be the American dream. When we got home I was pleasantly surprised, papa had a nice apartment above the bakery. The outside was a disgrace but inside was definitely more than livable. So we settled in and ate and caught up on as much as possible before we all had to get to sleep. In the morning we would have to go through immigration, only reason we didn't have to when we came in was because he was connected. He was a loved man in New York City I found that out really fast, for being a baker he sure got a lot of respect. .
When I finally started working at the bakery I started thinking about how papa can afford anything. A few old ladies come in, in the morning and his friends come over in the afternoon and he plays cards with them in the back. He must be making ten dollars a day in this bakery. So me being a normal fourteen year old, I started sneaking around trying to find out what's really going on.
