Italiano!
My great grandfather, Biz Nonno, is your typical Italian man. He is a few inches taller than me, but he walks like a hunchback and therefore looks smaller than I am. He always has on his dark gray ascot hat, and his dark gray wool suit-looking jacket, no matter what temperature it may be outside. He smells of mothballs and aftershave. His face always lights up whenever anyone walks through his door way. He grabs his cane, and comes to us, squeezing our hand as he kisses both cheeks and says “Buon Giorno!”
Biz Nonno, is ninety-five years old, and 100% Italian. He was originally born and raised in southern Italy. My great grandfather lived there up until he had married my great grandmother and had children. While my great grandmother was a stay at home mother and wife, my great grandfather was off fighting at war. He was a prisoner at war, and always tells our family that he fought enough war in his lifetime for all of us.
They made their departure from Sicily to the United States with high hopes that all the men, or at least some of them would find work while his daughters stayed at home to help my great grandmother. Biz Nonno was unable to find any work for the fact that he could never understand any of the instructions that anyone would try and give to him. He couldn’t understand any of the instructions for the purpose that they were being given to him in English, and unfortunate for Biz Nonno, he had not learned any. He got to experience what an illiterate person in the United States went through on a daily basis.
Biz Nonno is fluent in Italian, and cannot speak a word of English. Living in America, always formed a challenge for him because he could not go anywhere on his own. He was unable to talk to others and to have others talk to him. It has always produced a bit of an issue for my cousins and I when we go to visit him on holidays and other special occasions.
I sometimes try to imagine what it would be like to be in Biz Nonno’s shoes. Walking around, trying to find work, but not being able to know what anyone tries to tell me. It would be extremely frightening being completely oblivious to the world around you.
My dad is normally the translator because he is lucky enough to be able to speak the beautiful language fluently. Yet, it still bothers me when I am around him for not being able to fully appreciate what it is that he is saying.
Not being able to comprehend what someone is saying puts strain on both you and the person that you are trying to communicate with. It’s always so heartbreaking to watch Biz Nonno sit there and struggle with trying to figure out what I am saying to him. I know how he feels though since the feeling of miscommunication is mutual.
The language barrier is what drove me to pursue the study of the Italian language throughout my four years of college. I took Spanish from sixth grade until my junior year of high school in hopes that since my Nonna speaks Spanish on top of Italian and English, that I would be able to communicate with her better. I than realized that my knowledge of Spanish was not enough to understand all of my family members.
Italian is not only a language to me, but also a heritage and a way of life. Being born and raised into an Italian Roman Catholic family is something I am blessed to have. Being Italian meant that Sunday afternoons were always the same. My mother, father, sister, and I would all go to church in the morning and then we would spend the rest of the day at my Nonna’s house. From the moment you open the door to their small house, you get hit with the aroma of fresh tomato sauce, basil, and homemade bread. My dad’s whole side of the family would be there and Nonna would make a feast for us. The table in the kitchen would have a spread of salad, vegetables, eggplant Parmesan, some sort of pasta, some sort of meat, and always a homemade loaf of bread fresh out of the oven.
After we ate, we would all go into the family room off of the kitchen, the high ceilings and skylight windows. All the cousins would hangout while the aunts caught up and the uncles played cards. Biz Nonno would always stay sitting on the couch in the living room and occasionally we would all take turns to go over, say hello and try to have a conversation with him.
A common phrase, I happened to learn at a young age being was “Non Capisco”, meaning I don’t understand. Biz Nonno would sit next to me and ask, “Ciao Bella, come stai?” Whenever he asked this I would look back at him with a puzzled expression on my face. I learned to understand the simple greeting of hello and the compliment of being beautiful, but that last question, how are you, always bewildered me quite a bit.
Have you ever had to be placed into a situation where you had not the slightest idea of what someone was trying to say to you? Imagine yourself in my situation of not being able to understand many of the people that are closest to you, your own family. Lucky for me, my Nonna learned English around the same time that all her children were learning it. However, she did not loose the talent of speaking amazing Italian.
I knew I wanted to study a language in school, but I did not know whether to continue on with Spanish, or start off completely fresh. I love being able to call my Nonna from school, and practice my skills by having a conversation with her in Italian. I cannot wait until the next holiday rolls around and I get to surprise my Biz Nonno by being able to have a conversation with him, and better yet to understand what he says to me.
No comments:
Post a Comment