VIVA ITALIA

Italy speaks to me: of food, art,
architecture, history and romance of all sorts. As it speaks, it beckons—a call heretofore unanswered by me.

My mother, Elena, was born in Naples, of an Italian mama and a German papa. Her childhood was split almost equally, the first half spent in Italy, and the second half in Germany. Since her mother and brother had died when she was young, her ties to Italy weakened over time, and she was more often affiliated with Germany in our minds. My father is an American-born German, so our home was often clothed in harsh guttural whispers as my parents tried to keep us from ugly truths about limited finances, troubles at work, and family gossip—but instead, made us quake in our beds at the sound.

My mother looks more Italian than she does German, and she has the combined strength of both of those tread-upon nations. Her accent is a peculiar mix of both (when I was young, friends calling the house would ask if we had a maid). Growing up, the only references to her Italian roots were her occasional Italian meals, created with the same ease as her other made-from-scratch, often German offerings—and very sporadic, occasional references to Italians in her past.

With strong ties to friends and family in Germany (where she had endured the poverties of war in heavily bombed Nuremburg), our family held closer to that heritage than any other, so I was fortunate to visit there several times during my own childhood. Though I understood the language better as I grew and took high school German classes, it still retained its element of mysterious, often dark connotations.

When time and circumstance reunited my mother with some of her Italian roots and she freshened her skills in that language, I was treated to its more poetic, romantic sounds. It sounded like the sunlight I imagined there.

When I was an adult, my parents began to visit the northern part of Italy annually to visit friends, and upon their return, their transformation always surprised me. Hard working folks who never had it easy, they appeared to become giddy with delight, like honeymooners with a secret, on their Italian trips. They spoke of Italians singing with joy as they walked the streets and worked at their jobs there. My father, a performer by any definition, played the role in countless detailed practical jokes perpetrated by their friend Enrico while they visited there. My mother, a moral compass of sorts, also gave way to abandon, “sleeping” through border crossings when she forgot her passport, talking her way into a private home they had heard had a great view, and in general, supporting the antics of the men’s farces as they wreaked havoc on Enrico’s hometown of Vicenza. After a few days or weeks, their heightened sense of fun would gradually fade, until they were back to their typical lives here, often struggling very hard to survive each day.

I haven’t made it to Italy as of yet. So far, it has remained a dream, a bit of an ideal, further romanticized by art history slides, many movies, and my own daughter’s high school trip there. I will get there, I am just not sure when. Until I do, I often wonder about the slim heritage I share from my Neapolitan grandmother, Tina Maria Comporeale, whose name alone conjures exciting romantic images in my suburban middle-western mind.

What if I were meant to be there? I often feel my mother was, that her life would have undoubtedly been sunnier and more carefree than it has ever been here.

What it I am more Italian than I am German? What if I am meant for that lighter, brighter, loftier version of life? I grew up loving aspects of my German heritage and its culture, landscape and food, but what it I find Italy and know that it is home? (Picture Katharine Hepburn in Summertime’s Venice, minus the creepy, albeit handsome married love interest, Rossano Brazzi. Or Audrey’s Roman Holiday, no need to exclude the Gregory Peck in this dream.)

I am sure that when I set foot on Italia’s warm sunny soil, I will know. I will be home and I will know it and in turn, I will be more beautiful, more heartfelt, more artistic, and in general, just an all around better person.

When I get there, I’ll let you know.