It is an utter rarity that I feel like I’m in the adult generation of my family. Partly this is queerness — our milestones don’t always follow culturally prescribed timelines — and it’s living in Los Angeles, where it’s common to focus on career growth over maturity. Mostly though: I was born into the kind of strict Italian Catholic family that doesn’t really expect kids to grow up, move on, make our own way in the world.
You marry, take over the family business, have small, chest-haired little Italians and then you’re buried in the wall of the mausoleum under…
