Meadow Soprano and I: Daughters of Chaos

It was Michael Corleone’s stoic, heartless demeanor, Henry Hill’s audacious drive to be a gangster, and Tony Montana’s lust for luxury that, from a young age, drove me to become infatuated with the world of mobster movies. I am a mafia film and TV addict by heart. In my formative teenage years, I binged The Godfather trilogy more than I’d like to admit and proudly quoted Henry Hill in my senior high school photo; “As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster.” (Goodfellas, 1990, 00:01:40). Though I failed to fulfill my fantasy of morphing into a 1950s mobster, I came to equally love and hate just how much I was learning from my coveted fictitious crime families. Not only was I learning, separating romanticized, Hollywood mafia from realistic ones, but I also related as well, writing an endless scroll of commonalities between the Corleones and Aldecoas. It was a planted vice I had that I wasn’t aware of until my love for mafia film became an obsession- turned catalyst for psychological and familial investigation. Within the comfortable walls of our shaking home, we, The Aldecoas, had our own Don Vito, our own Michael, a Tony Montana, and a Henry Hill. My fandom, by the flick of a switch, was transformed into a reality, an illuminated nightmare. I was watching for entertainment, information, and validation. After overdosing on the Corleones and habitually screening Goodfellas enough to have my Italian-tailored suit, I stumbled across The Sopranos and all of its 90s middle class, fighting to survive mafia glory. Even more so, I found comfort, a sistership in Meadow Soprano, the eldest child of the feared mobster of New Jersey, Tony Soprano. Much like myself, Meadow was raised in a tumultuous family dynamic that attempted to balance healthy family values that were veiled by immoral actions and beliefs. Similarly, my family sent my brothers and me through a whirlwind of confusion, questioning, and blatant deception. My ever-growing love for The Sopranos had elicited new love for mafia media, I spent days drawing parallels between the Corleones and Aldecoas, but I understood the Sopranos. I shared their children’s pain, witnessed similar injustices, watching my family descend into total collapse. Great empires have fallen ill to betrayal, greed, heartache, and the cycle of insufferable adversity. The Soprano family welcomed me with questionable open arms, enough drama to drown a hair salon, and an unsettling but reflective relationship with Meadow, who, like myself, was a daughter of chaos; endlessly searching for answers, rationality, and freedom. This saga illustrated some radiant images of class, family, and crime that were never prevalent to me until I rewatched the show with a more mature mind and better comprehension of the middle-class, the correlation to crime, and how the families, in particular the children, are forced to wait on a bench and find a way to balance their family’s unethical ways and their potentially brooding fates.

This autoethnography will dive into The Sopranos, the connections between class, family, and crime, while simultaneously dissecting the paralleled world of my family, The Aldecoas. More specifically, my TV relationship with Meadow Soprano, who over the seasons became an odd reflection of what I aim to be; free of ignorance. We begin this detail by highlighting the correlations between organized crime, ethnicity, and class, sending us to dig into the middle-class desires and anxieties to do whatever is necessary to “move up,” from mediocrity by utilizing organized crime as a vehicle. Then, we venture into the unsung victims of criminals, the children, who, by no fault of their own, must navigate a world of felonious behavior, deceit, and truth-seeking to decipher their destiny within the worn-down walls of a crime family. In conjunction with my own experiences, The Sopranos, and scholarly evidence, this autoethnography is designed to be a method of self and cultural analysis as I plummet myself into the depths of corrupt familial dynamics connected to class hierarchies, family, and ethnicity with the assistance of accredited sociologists such as; David Bell, Richard Clawford, James O’Kane, Robert Merton, Steven Messner, and Lloyd Ohlin; who have all given their time to extensive research on ethnicity, class and its relationship with organized crime. As defined by Jimmie Manning and Tony E. Adams in their body of work “Popular Culture Studies and Autoethnography: An Essay on Method,” an autoethnography as “a research method that foregrounds the researcher’s personal experience (auto) as it is embedded within, and informed by, cultural identities and con/texts (ethno) and as it is expressed through writing, performance, or other creative means (graphy),” (Manning, Adams pg 188). Moreso, it is a compilation of purpose, methods, and theory that aid in deciphering and elucidating social behaviors through different faces of the media. As I demonstrate autoethnographic work through the successful HBO television series, The Sopranos, we will see how the drama delivers social commentary on cultural identity, class, family, and crime that provides an alternative way to study popular media, texts, and contexts. Autoethnographic studies pay special attention to the reviews of pop culture as a reflective tool in order to deliver substantial, meaningful work. As reflected, the experiential and analytical strengths of autoethnographic research are valid, applicable, and effective methods for self and cultural examination. Making it a ripe candidate for detailing how The Sopranos handed me insight into the world of class, crime, the inevitable toll it takes on the family, and how my family, The Aldecoas, are a distorted representation of the fictitious Soprano universe and product of an ethnic, stereotyped driven gang culture.

‘This is what we do,’ became a common phrase loosely tossed around in my childhood. At every Aldecoa gathering, every dinner, get-together, I, the inconspicuous wallflower, would observe with dread and disappointment. I recall one summer, a rather sweltering day for Arizona in July, sitting at my grandmother’s. My uncle, who for a large portion of my childhood was a phantom man, making occasional appearances with gifts, wads of rolled-up cash, and inebriated smiles, was there. I was a ripening twelve and teeming with curiosity. I suppose, in a feat of surging adrenaline and inquisition, I grew brave enough to finally ask the prying question; where do you disappear to? Something I would have never dared to pose had it not been for his desire to be vulnerable with his niece. He paused, stared at me, and motioned for us to sit down together; I was finally going to get my answer, or so I assumed. My relatives, particularly the men, have run in the streets, alleys, and shadows of organized crime pursuits for decades. Throughout my adolescence, I watched, listened, and noted the disappearing, the drinking, the yelling, the violence, the strangers who spontaneously became an “Uncle” to my brothers and me and their “work.” My uncle’s eldest brother, my father, ran in these same circles, resulting in my and my brothers’ child abandonment. During this time, I hadn’t seen nor spoken to my father since I was nine years old and the impending doom of knowing the truth both haunted and harmed me. So, with no options, I turned to his little brother, an open book of a man who wears his tragedies on his flesh unashamed. What I anticipated was a drawn-out discussion, a layout of answers and timelines, and a road map to my father, alas, that was not the case. I heard heartache, anger, depression, a shell of a man who had been plagued since he was a young teenager by the uninvited obligation that the criminal world was his destiny. After spilling his soul and candidly detailing the adversity, I had to know; why? I anticipated a psychological explanation, something that tells him his upbringing made him who he is, rather, I was told “this is what we do, Mija.” We? At that moment, his eyes brimming with exhaustion, I was seeing firsthand the cultural repercussions of criminal life; a middle-class Mexican family choosing to follow a stereotyped path of crime to succeed, acquire power and provide for the family. All with the thrills a nine-to-five commitment could never offer them. I was raised knowing them as a car salesman, small-business owners, or never really knowing what they do for a living at all. Now, I wasn’t facing my car salesman uncle, I was looking into the eyes of a beloved crook who was trapped under the notion that being of Mexican descent means you have to agree to a certain way of life romanticized by Hollywood and the media.

This memory, now a distant thought, was reintroduced to me during one of my Soprano binges. In Season 1, Episode 5 “College”, where Tony and Meadow are out on a college-scouting road trip, Meadow, in the same bravery I exhibited, was bold enough to ask her father if he was in the mafia. In an escalating conversation, while Tony denies the accusations, Meadow asks him “did the Cusamano kids ever find $50,000 in Krugerrands and a 45 automatic when they were hunting for Easter eggs?” I couldn’t help but nervously chuckle, reflecting on a time my mother told me when she found thousands of dollars stuffed in our freezer or random guns in not-so-hidden places. What was Meadow and I supposed to think? That this is normalcy, that our friends’ fathers were doing no different? Appalled by the “accusation,” Tony argues that because he’s in waste management and an Italian-American, people automatically assume you’re “mobbed up,” expressing that it’s a stereotype and offensive to the Italian-American people. Immediately curious about his daughter’s opinion of him being in the mafia, Tony nervously confides in his Meadow, disclosing a fraction of the truth, reassuring her that some money comes from gambling, some from a legitimate business, but regardless of the income, you provide for your family by any means necessary because “this is what we do.” She met his vagueness in the same fashion I had; an eye-roll and a sigh that subtly says ‘yeah, I get it, I don’t like it, but what can we do?’

Who is “we”? Why do “we” have to subject ourselves to a life of crime in order to succeed? This question plagues both Meadow and me, forcing us to reflect on our heritage, and origin story and attempt to decipher why our ethnicities and class tell us that moving up means breaking morals and laws. Let’s rewind a bit, back to a time when our grandparents would exclaim “when your great grandmother came to this country…” It’s a tale I’m sure we’ve all heard at least five times, the family origin story. Personally, mine is a Mexico-Poland hybrid that tells me how my great grandparents came from Mexico to Arizona to build a new life and for Meadow it’s a noble, Italian expedition from the tip of the boot to the great state of New Jersey. Either way, we were raised on family pride knowing that our ancestors crossed oceans and deserts to establish something new for themselves and future generations. Although they escaped their countries for a redo, upon entering, the immigrant population sat in the twilight zone of the social hierarchy. Illiteracy, poverty, lack of education, and blatant inhumanity kept the immigrants from moving up the social ladder that they anticipated to climb upon entrance. Moving into contemporary times, building on the hard labor of those before them, there is a surge of immigrant descendants climbing that ladder and pulling their families out of impoverished circumstances, proving that their American Dream is just as attainable as those that are American-made. Even if the journey there is different.

Sociologist and Criminologist James M. O’kane, author of The Crooked Ladder: Gangsters, Ethnicity, and the American Dream deliver an eye-opening detail of class, ethnicity, and their correlation to gangsters and the world of organized crime. Here, we see the climb and how minority groups flooding American borders found a way to manipulate and form their interpretation of the American Dream to fit their aspirations and feed their wallets. The economic evolution of these lower-class groups begs the question: How did these groups crawl up the ladder to respectability and prosperity so quickly? In just the span of two to three generations, groups that were once considered at the bottom are seemingly successful, acquiring business and wealth as if they were born into it. When presented with this inquiry, it’s easy to concede to the Horatio Alger path. Nineteenth-century moralizer, novelist, and social analyst, Horatio Alger, authored many novels portraying a way of American life from the perspective of the impoverished. In his books, he displays success in America as attainable through hard work, sobriety, and education; your typical rags-to-riches transformation (O’Kane 1992, 237). The Horatio route is one most traveled by many Americans but especially those trudging along the lower-class roads and eager to stretch themselves thin to “make it.” This rags-to-riches manifesto quickly became the self-help teaching tool to patrons hunting for a better life and version of themselves. For both the Sopranos and Aldecoas, the rags-to-riches narrative aided in the foundation of what our families came to be. Impoverished Italian and Mexican immigrants crossed over in hopes of turning their pennies into dollars. However, with their success came conformity, a lesson hastily learned by ethnic groups, a term coined by social scientists that describe groups “that share similar cultural characteristics, values, physical characteristics, and styles of life,” (O’Kane 1992, 242). These ethnic groups attained respect, value, and a higher economic status via the Horatio Alger method and the fine art of conformity. By conforming to the social and cultural norms, lower-class citizens could move up the social ladder and lead socially acceptable lifestyles, even if it meant losing part of their native culture. After exploring the inception stories of ethnic groups, their vices, and compliance with American culture through O’Kane’s delineation, we begin to notice patterns that eventually set a narrowing and immoral ascend the social hierarchy ladder.

***The climb from the bottom was met with unintentional, unethical criminal action that, without their knowledge, would form an organized crime empire that has gone on to conquer society and the media. To examine this climb, O’Kane turns to professor of sociology, Richard Clawford, who pointed to indications that aside from labor and politics, crime is a key factor in upward mobility. Clawford’s lectures, as reminisced by O’Kane, accredited his theories on crime being an active part of American society to fellow sociologist, Daniel Bell. Bell, a Harvard professor, sociologist, writer, and editor became famous to a degree for his notion that it is important to identify “crime as a ‘queer’ avenue of success in America, so much so that in his estimation, crime is literally a way of life,” (O’Kane 1992, 508–509). To families like the Sopranos and Aldecoas, Bell’s notion sheds a light on the fine lines of “doing whatever necessary to support your family.” A phrase that served both as security and concern for Meadow Soprano and me. Sociologist Robert Merton, whom Clawford studied under, provides insight into understanding a deeper, more complex root of newcomers utilizing crime as a vehicle for upward mobility in American society (O’Kane 1992, 521). In his model, Merton details the confrontation immigrant communities dealt with when they felt that the American Dream was unattainable due to hostility and discrimination. Within this model, four responses can be identified; innovation, ritualism, retreatism, and rebellion (O’Kane 1992, 521). Here, we see an innovator, someone who “seeks to attain the dominant social goals of American society but uses illegitimate means to accomplish these goals;” then, the ritualist, who jilts the goals but reaps the benefits of the means, and a rebel replaces new goals and means for standard ones (O’Kane 1992, 522–526). Merton’s model serves as a tool to dissect the desire for social mobility in ethnic minority communities. The point that best suits the need for mobilization is innovation; as it provides the groups with assimilation into contemporary society, even though it was met with hostility, opposition, and prejudiced attitudes; making it difficult to achieve the American Dream. Innovation plagues Tony Soprano, who silently suffers in the perpetuating cycle of wanting to be accepted but maintaining his mafioso persona. Tony is most certainly not squeaky-clean, between his domestic issues at home, running a crime empire, and all while battling mental health in an engrossing and tangled therapist’s office. His gangster persona can never be legitimated by middle-class values. Even his legitimate operations are contaminated by his criminal rearing and deemed unworthy of realistic and proper middle-class careers. He lives in a world he will never be fully accepted in. Why would he? If Tony had remained in his old working-class neighborhood from childhood, he would not be considered an outsider, where he’s from, la Cosa Nostra is any other job, his roots wouldn’t demote him. However, the same cannot be said for the world he moved up in, surrounded by blue-collar men, women, and their regularity. Tony desperately seeks normalcy but is blinded by the obvious obstacle in play; his ‘business.’ Innovation and assimilation are on opposite sides of the track for Tony.

***However, while dressing up in an Americanized uniform seemed beneficial to ethnic groups and appeared to ascend them into acceptance, it also delivered equal amounts of lower-to-middle-class anxieties that come with “moving on up.” If anything, once you get there, maintaining your spot becomes a whole new challenge in itself. The study of economic success and social stability within American suburbias can be accredited to sociologist Robert Merton who established the differential opportunity theory that was then adapted by Clawford and Lloyd Ohlin, who dissected and explored the theory in their work: Delinquency and Opportunity: A Theory of Delinquent Gangs (1960). The differential opportunity theory explains why the poor “have differential access to illegitimate means (working),” (Cloward, Ohlin 1960, Delinquency and Opportunity: A Theory of Delinquent Gangs). More recently, sociologists Steven F. Messner and Richard Rosenfeld expanded on differential opportunity theory by arguing “that in the United States crime arises from several of our most important values, including an overemphasis on economic success, individualism, and competition,” with this, you see an ascension in the production of crime, the values communicate to Americans that, “rich or poor, feel they never have enough money and by prompting them to help themselves even at other people’s expenses,” (Messner, Rosenfeld, 2007, Crime and the American Dream). Organized crime, if anything, is built on “prompting themselves” at another’s expense in order to reach peak maximum wealth. Tony Soprano, played by the incomparable James Gandolfini, delivers the cultural myths Americans possess regarding success and the definition of comfortable living within the confines of the reigning American suburbia, all while attempting to keep a balance between mafioso, husband, and father. His lineage derives from the Italian peninsula, where his grandfather crossed over in hopes of bringing the Soprano name to the top. It was your basic immigrant-coming-to-America story; to leave socialist Italy for the land of the free. Yes, the Soprano family possessed accumulating wealth, so to label them strictly middle-class would be an erroneous statement. However, the family carries middle-class indicators that pervade American culture and ideals, especially when dealing with class. The suburbs, where their milky white home stood tall, was the home of your everyday American family, where the white-collar stiffs commuted to and from work, where the average John and Jane inhabited with hopes of flourishing in cozy, fully conformed mediocrity. Tony Soprano’s crossover from New Jersey ghettos to classic landscapes plays out numerous concerns associated with the middle-class’s aching desire to move on up in their world.

Tony is certainly not squeaky-clean, between his domestic issues at home, running a crime empire, and all while battling mental health in an engrossing and tangled therapist’s office; his gangster persona can never be legitimated by middle-class values. Even his legitimate operations are contaminated by his criminal rearing and deemed unworthy of realistic and proper middle-class careers. He lives in a world he will never be fully accepted in. Why would he? If Tony had remained in his old working-class neighborhood from childhood, he would not be considered an outsider, where he’s from, La Cosa Nostra is any other job. However, the same cannot be said for the world he moved up in, surrounded by blue-collar men, women, and their regularity. Tony desperately seeks normalcy but is blinded by the obvious obstacle in play; his ‘business.’ We see this desperation with Tony’s incessant need for the perfect nuclear family while simultaneously running an organized crime family. French sociologist and deemed the “architect for modern social science,” Emile Durkheim’s statement on anomie theories; a string of sociological answers for explaining deviance, can begin to piece apart why Americans feel compelled to achieve upward economic mobility and will do almost anything to accomplish it. One of Durkheim’s students, Merton, narrows in on anomie theories and focuses on “Social Structure and Anomie,” (Anomie/Strain Theory pg. 134). Durkheim Anomie’s theories seek to comprehend deviance by “focusing on social structures and patterns that emerge as individuals and groups interact,”. In Merton’s detail, he argued that “we are all socialized to believe in the sense of limitless possibilities and o desire success on a large scale…The problem, however, is that the social structure restricts or completely eliminates access…,” (Anomie/Strain Theory pg 132–134). The American Dream is incessantly perpetuated throughout The Sopranos as they navigate their economic climb; Tony came from a rags-to-riches environment and intended to end up elsewhere with a decorated wife and trophy children. As a result of this forced socialization, and a high volume of discrimination, immigrant descendant families felt that crime was their avenue of fame and fortune and as long as they were providing the family and coming home, questions weren’t raised. Unfortunately, I have seen a similar cycle occur in my bloodline, watching men bury themselves in the attempt to blanket their secret lives with balanced, seemingly normal lifestyles and families. Though it never worked out to their advantage; between failed marriages, child abandonment, substance abuse, addiction, sentences, and all the other unwanted charms of leading a felonious life, no amount of normal could ever shield the rest of us from their mischievous ways. Similar to the Sopranos, ‘We’re doing it for the family’ became our motto when the sun rose and the anthem of my nightmares when it set. Unlike Meadow and I’s surroundings, your run-of-the-mill every man or woman wouldn’t dare break societies upheld morals that subjugated them to a comfortable life of following the rules. They wouldn’t dare engage in theft, bribery, gambling, selling sex, scheming, bloodbaths, or anything other than their legal nine-to-five commitment. This is where Mr. Soprano himself struggles to maintain his balance of average Joe and La Cosa Nostra (the mob). Both his internal and external vices with his ‘business’ and his personal life are in incessant conflict with his obsession to have an idealistic nuclear family. Reveling in the excitement of a dangerous TV family very quickly threw me to face my reality, my family, and the emotional and mental consequences of growing up in an unconventional dynamic. For me, The Sopranos, in haste and disconcerting fashion, felt all too familiar.

This stress exhausted me, much like it did Meadow Soprano, Tony’s eldest child, who became my TV reflection. Early on in her teenage years, she put the puzzle together and found out who her father was, what he did, and the weight of the coveted Soprano name. From this discovery, she pried, trying to destroy the walls her mother and father worked so hard to build to protect the kids. Relentless like her parents, Meadow had to face the lies she had been told, that her father wasn’t just in waste management and their family’s wealth derives more from alleys and casinos than legitimate work. I understood all too well, the discovery, facing the truth and witnessing your family lie to you, with little to no power, you are forced to sit and accept, in rebellion, reject it, and face the consequences. I, like Meadow, chose the latter, I wanted answers; a task easier said than done. Growing up and receiving tainted wisdom accompanied by falsity not only drew me further from my family’s truths but brought me to one conclusion; who can I trust to guide me, if not my family? The Silvios and Paulies of my life dictate their ethics and morals based on their greed and desire for more power. Teaching me that as long as I am winning, how I get there does not matter; a lesson I am glad I never clung to in the years to come. This rationalization can be dissected and explained by Edwin H. Sutherland, sociologist, and criminal behavior analyst. In his studies, Sutherland provides the discovery of the differential association theory; which explains “that criminal behavior is learned by interactions with close friends and family members who teach us how to commit various crimes and also about values, motives, and rationalizations we need to adopt in order to justify breaking the law,” (Sutherland 1947, Principles of Criminology). In the same fashion, differential association theory is a direct correlation with hearing mothers say they don’t trust your friends because “they’re a bad influence,” and believing their deviance is contagious. Sutherland’s theory is one of several explanations categorized under the functionalist perspective in sociology. These varying viewpoints look closely into the science and nature of different facets of society that focus on social stability, influence, and deviance (Explaining Deviance). As detailed by Sutherland, those socialized with deviant individuals early on in life are more likely to become deviants themselves, “in this way, a normal social process, socialization, can lead normal people to commit deviance,” (Explaining Deviance). I have witnessed this socialization first-hand and heard its many victims. Seemingly normal young men were corrupted by other relatives who “had a job for them,” and their lives were consumed. In one account, my uncle, who, from a young teenager was dealt misfortune and began leading a criminal path before eighteen years old; all because of a few cousins. Due to the constant socialization with those displaying deviant behavior and finding the means to justify it, participating and condoning the behavior became easier for my uncle, who, in his formative years, grew to lead a long, treacherous path. While it can be argued that deviance isn’t solely based on socialization, it does play a heavy role in the forming of deviants and consistency is deviant behavior. However, despite its opposers, Sutherland’s differential association theory still holds its merit in the ongoing study of group theories, deviance, and crime. Similarly, like the Sopranos, many of the men are brought in through family and friend lines, dragging people down with their lines of work. In my particular situations never felt pressured or granted permission to break the law, rather, a harsh opposition and threat to never do so or fear the consequences. There was an understanding that for them, their rationale was synonymous with protection and provide, however; if I were to ever step into their world, I would be wildly unwelcome. No matter the interrogations, I was still being handed second-tier advice from men who saw drug peddling and money laundering as decent work; ‘do, as they say, not as they do,’ quickly became my motto and coping mechanism, incessantly reminding myself that I must stick to my path and aggressively elude theirs. I was glad to see Meadow doing the same, aiming to be a better version of herself and not another beaten clown in her family circus. These epiphanies only brought me to acknowledge my heartache even more, like the Soprano kids, I too wanted answers, peace, and the comfort of knowing who I am surrounded by will do me less harm and more good.

I remember being fifteen, submerged in confusion, disturbed. Meadow, Tony’s eldest daughter, was equally drowning in complacency with a desire to escape. I would wake up and wonder if it would be the day I’d get an answer or if I’d rise and dress for school as usual; then I’d get out of bed without a peep. Meadow schemed, preying on the idea her family’s wealth goes beyond waste management and discovering the unfortunate truth. I would water my hair, paint my face, assemble the same two-toned outfit, and prepare my smile, hiding the questions. Were we so simple? An otherwise mundane routine morphed into curiosity, then to resolutions. The Sopranos gave me epiphanies I would have otherwise waited on in complete anticipation. It is the equally frustrating and thrilling eloquence of someone who has survived by pen, paper, and unfortunate gangster plights. The Soprano family, much like my own, had shape-shifted into survivalists; crossing broken fingers, begging that hope would prevail and rip us away from chaos. My namesake, the Tony of my saga, waltzed into poor decisions and impulse; wrapping himself into immoral ways and unethical actions. In his shadows and fading memory, I would think back to Vito Corleone when he said “the strength of a family, like the strength of an army, lies in its loyalty to each other,” a statement that has marked over a decade of my demise and survival. Tony Soprano, despite his numerous faults, fought to stay by his family’s side. His loyalty to his bloodline was unmatched but scrutinized under a dense lens. Was he right to do his ‘job’ to protect his family? Is Tony Soprano a villain or a hero in the shadows? These questions would plague me the entirety of the show, making me question if I was irrationally rejecting certain facets of my heritage. Should I be merciful? If they were ‘doing this for us,’ would I be suffering at the hands of their discretion? However, I refused the latter, rejected the initiative, and decided it was us, the family, that sat second hand to their choices and laid victim to misconceived reputations and years of emotional and psychological warfare. Us was a facade, you can pawn your family for cover when their rose-colored lenses don’t recognize red flags. This, like the juvenile Soprano children, was a years-long battle with our consciousness and the projected ideals forced onto us. My brothers and I, in our more formative years as young adults, realized the evidence, what you allow, will continue, and in our efforts to evade more emotional damage, we fled in the night. The Sopranos often portrayed this ideal, forcing me to reconnect with aspects of myself I hadn’t acknowledged in a decade. We could no longer allow what was continuing; the endless picking at our brains, our hearts. Evoking sadness, regret, and birthing resentment. Meadow Soprano and I collided, the eldest daughters expected for academic success, secretive in their sorrows and utterly intrigued by the darkness that claws at our families. In these parallelling worlds, you see two young women beg the question ‘I don’t remember asking you to do this?” An endless cycle of woes filters into the heads of two fathers that figured their greed prioritized over the emotional welfare of the kids.

The exhilarating world of mobster movies and shows centers the machismo men and sheepish followers around slightly chaotic family dynamics veiled by falsification. The wife and mother sit at home tending to the children, and the husband, to cover up, goes to his faux nine-to-five while the kids battle adolescence. You see the laundry list of victims, always expanding due to countless efforts to “wash the bad blood away,” but what about the blood that has to live on the receiving end of someone else’s rudimentary decisions? Meadow and Anthony Soprano Jr. clawed their way through the deceit, picking away at their father and the myriad of ways he had broken down. The children, often the silent victims, watch their iron-clad father deteriorate while simultaneously chipping away at themselves. Are they supposed to follow this path? This question haunted my psyche for the better part of my teenage years, the impending thought that I could end up like my father; the revered hero turned villain. Were Meadow and Jr destined to drown in the blood their father poured? The families of these felonious men blanketed themselves in exhausted plights of optimism, telling each other that it is permissible to excuse wrongdoings if it’s “for the family.” This projected pressure only adds to the mountain of manipulation. Growing up in a family that fought to protect my father’s tainted image taught me the power of “we’re doing this for you.” Those five words were enough to shut people down, giving them unsettling peace. The Soprano family, like the Aldecoas, struggled to flourish in an environment that told them to stay quiet. We were expected to be grateful without question and be judgment-free. This internal conflict to be grateful yet skeptical possessed me for the majority of my life. I wanted to escape the damage but felt obligated to lie in it with everyone else. Meadow, Jr, and Tony’s faithful but suffering wife, Carmela, were trapped in the very same. Watching their incessant strife gave me odd amounts of comfort, telling me that feeling confined was rational and justified. All of a sudden, I was Aldecoa by day and Soprano by night; but at least Tony Soprano showed up for his children, that was something to look forward to.

My war with the faux predisposition theory pushed me to further investigate my free will and root for Meadow Soprano even more. I wanted to see her get out of that house. Similarly, in my quest for free will, I was determined to make sure every choice in my jurisdiction strayed me further from becoming shells like my family. Meadow and I were destined for academic greatness, eager to escape our hometowns and dying to explore the world outside of our familial turmoil.

The Sopranos invited me to their table, where I sat face-to-face with the impetuous truths of my family. For the first time in at least a decade, I had a conversation with the demons that encircled the many nightmares that turned into reality. My family’s desperation to be anything other than products of crook culture directly correlated with the handful of reigning middle-class anxieties interspersed throughout The Sopranos. Our society is dictated by the yearning to move up, to prove your worth by climbing, fighting, and doing anything necessary to protect your place. Tony, poisoned by his roots, wanted to extend into a higher life, one where he isn’t ridiculed, but his sins are inescapable. Haunting him, his family, and my consciousness.

I found solidarity in suffering from the Soprano family. We had tolerated unequal conditions but received equal amounts of emotional trauma that set us up for years of therapy visits and unwelcome demons at the dinner table. What was originally a romanticized perception of my sacred mafia movies quickly pivoted, transforming into a tool to dig up the archived platitudes of organized crime within the Aldecoas. My years-long passion had turned into my TV family, my reflection, confidant, and therapist. My hours-long appointments with Tony and Dr. Melfi brought me into the psychological world of gangsters, suffering fathers, and diminishing family dynamics. Where, I expected to feel heartbroken, and disappointed. Instead, I found asylum, a bizarre sense of comfort that this fictional family paralleled my world through a myriad of unethical manners. I entered this dissection ready to crucify Tony Soprano for making me acknowledge my reality. Maybe, I ought to thank him for bringing me to a place of understanding, after all, I’m just doing it for the family. Either way, I’ll be right back on my couch, volume up and ears open, ready to dine with the Sopranos one more time.