I was voted Ugliest Girl on the school bus in sixth grade. It was painful. I went home sobbing and said to my parents, “I’m never going to school again.” My father sat me on his lap, picked up my chin and said, “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world to me.” It helped … a little.

My father always pushed me to try. When I was 19 and wanted to go to Paris and model, my mother was hesitant. But my father was like, “Here’s some money! Here’s your return ticket!” There’s no harm in trying, he taught me. So I did.

My parents married when my father was in England—Mom was English and my father was Italian. My mother was a war bride. She learned how to make meatballs, spaghetti, sauce, from my father’s mom and grandmother. Growing up, my siblings and I would chuckle because we never knew: Are we having meatballs or are we having tea? I’m always up for a good meatball.

There are times when I’ve put on 15, 20 pounds, and it’s my fault because I’m not paying attention or not caring. I think Pilates is great, and I try to walk a lot—I walk, walk, walk.

I was never a girl who looked in the mirror. I am what I am, I put a little lipstick on, a little blush, and I’m out the door.

My parents were movie buffs. Judy Garland was big in my house, but my favorite was Bette Davis. I loved how she could transform herself from an ugly duckling into a beautiful swan. I think being voted Ugliest Girl in sixth grade had a lot to do with why I adored her.

Last year was the 25th anniversary of The Sopranos, and people still call out, “Hey, Doc!” when they see me on the street. I love it. It means my role as Dr. Melfi meant something to them. When I think about the show, I don’t think about the success—I think about what I lost. I lost Jimmy [Gandolfini]. And for Goodfellas—which was 35 years ago—I lost Ray Liotta. I lost two people whom I worked with, whom I adored, whom I would jump up in the air and hug and kiss whenever I saw them. That’s what I think about.

One of the big things for me in my life, besides having children and grandchildren, is that my parents got to see my success. It warms my heart that I was able to bring them to the Oscars and all the openings of The Sopranos. It was very special for them, and for me.

I think there’s an afterlife. Once we leave our body, we go on and see our friends and family. I have no problem with that at all.

I’m single, and I’m sure someone will arrive. I believe in love. What do I look for in a man? A sense of humor is extremely important. And I like a guy who’s sure of himself. I’m sure of myself, so I want him to be rock steady.

The most important lesson I tried to teach my two daughters is that anything is possible. If I could do what I’ve done in my life, I told them, you can do anything. You are the only one who can stop yourself.

I love being home. I have the dogs. I cook, I garden. I feed the birds. I talk on the phone. I do Wordle. I do The New York Times Spelling Bee. I watch old movies. I love when it’s Oscar season and I get all the academy movies. I cook for people. My friends came over last night; I made a nice little dinner.

Being a grandmother is so much fun, because you relive a part of you that’s been dormant for a while. We play, we read, we talk. As long as I can get down on the floor and get back up again, I’m good.

Nonnas is a comedy, a true story about this guy who opens a restaurant with a bunch of nonnas. I’ve never, ever done a comedy before, so this was big for me. I was nervous; I didn’t know where to start. The director gave me these ugly glasses, and I said: “I look terrible, what are you doing to me?” He said, “Lorraine, trust me.” He was hysterical, laughing behind the camera. Vince Vaughn kept saying, “Lorraine, you’re doing great! Just commit! Believe!” It’s a character that, never in a million years, I thought I’d play. —As told to Natasha Stoynoff