Patrick A. Visaggi Memorial Scholarship

A Manasquan NJ native, or Yankee as they call me here at the University of Alabama, I spent most of my summers fishing the Jersey shore and preparing Sunday spaghetti and crab sauce. Yes, marinara and crabs. If you know, you know! Like Patrick, as an Italian American, I grew up in a family steeped in the traditions of both the old country and the new world. As a child I found myself engrossed in stories about past relatives, so much so, I felt I was there. My grandfather, a prolific storyteller, would vividly describe the journey of my ancestors transitioning from the life they left behind in Italy to one of prosperity in America. At the time, I thought these amazing tales were what family was all about. But I would soon learn the true meaning through an uphill and arduous journey filled with pain, devotion, love, and triumph. I was born with a connective tissue disorder affecting my lower extremities. As I grew, my right foot and calf were noticeably underdeveloped and my kneecaps would sporadically and painfully dislocate up to 90 degrees. Thankfully, a corrective surgery existed. However, the procedure involved cutting across growth plates and transplanting cadaver tendons, which elevated the chances of severe infection and permanent paralysis. When I turned to my parents for guidance, they reminded me of my grandfather’s stories of past relatives coming to America for the first time. Just like them, I needed to mourn the life I once knew and find the courage to embark on a new path. Suddenly, it all became clear. If my family could do it, so could I. The years that followed were grueling. There were so many times I wanted to give up, tap out, and say that’s enough. But I couldn’t. I kept looking at my family and the sacrifices they were making to see me through this difficult time. I could hear my father’s motivational words echoing in my head with every step I took. I looked into the eyes of my younger twin brothers and could see how much they were rooting for me. There was no way I was going to let them down. I was lucky. Although I’ll always have challenges, my disability has improved. Many of the friends I made at Boston Children's Hospital were not as fortunate. My experience compelled me to pay it forward. With the support of my family, I joined The Seeing Eye program and we began raising guide dogs for the visually impaired. Our duties included teaching skills and commands specific to service animals, as well as, familiarizing them with everyday errands. Once proficient, the dogs are called back for their final training and are matched with a blind companion. Looking back, I appreciate my entire journey. But mostly, I appreciate the love and support of my family because I couldn't have survived it without them. Most cultures only have the word “love” to express their feelings. But there are many different levels and stages of love. It begins with Eros, a self-gratifying love that solely focuses on the perks and benefits you gain from a relationship. But through the slings and arrows of life, we reach a deeper meaning of the word, finally arriving at self-sacrificing love, an everlasting devotion that never fades and embodies one's willingness to lay down one's life for another. It is the rarest love there is and I am so grateful I have that with my family. I'm proud to say my Italian heritage taught me the true meaning of F.A.M.I.L.Y. Forget About Me, I Love You!