In spite of their pragmatic attitude about family
size, most of the Italians we met genuinely cherished children. Instead of
being frowned at because we had so many, we seemed to be welcomed with smiles
and caramelle (candies) wherever we went. In early July, we took all of the
children on a shopping trip to the city of Casale. The shopkeepers’ faces lit
up as we walked in the door. This contrasted with similar trips in California
where the smiles of the American clerks had faded as they saw our brood, and their
eyes darted back and forth to make sure our children didn’t touch anything. I
can’t say that I really blamed them. I had seen out-of-control children destroy
store displays, bump into people, and often break things. Even though we had
played a game with the boys so they walked through the stores with their
hands behind their backs, and we had kept the twins in their stroller, the
clerks in American stores had still tracked us suspiciously.
That is why it struck us so forcefully when our
children were welcomed in the Italian stores. Of course we thought our children
beautiful, but not enough to stop commerce. But the Italian clerks came out
from behind the counter, no matter how many people were waiting to be served,
and stooped to talk to our babies. The customers, far from looking annoyed,
joined them in clamoring around us. The children delighted in the attention,
and the candies. As we walked along the street, strangers stopped us to comment
on the fact that we had four children, how beautiful they were, how lucky we
were, and how young we looked to have so many. I realized later that they also
thought we must be very rich to afford four children. We were far from it, but
to the Italians we met, like the immigration officer in the airport, a large
number of children was a reason for joy. My assumptions about the Italian
culture were being smashed anew almost every day! I had been guilty of
stereotyping an entire country based on what I had seen and read in the media.
Slowly, slowly, I began to reserve judgement, to wait, to watch, and to see
before assuming anything! Through my experiences in Italy I learned to have
enormous compassion for immigrants who arrive floundering in our own country.
All of this attention centered on the children was
very welcome, but it also served to set us apart from the locals, which was the
opposite of what we wanted. We were different, and it showed. Not only did we
wear foreign-looking clothes, struggle with the language, and request things
that were not available, but we had secured for ourselves a privilege that our
neighbors could not afford, a large family. This didn’t help us in our quest to
assimilate into the local culture. But we were determined to keep trying.
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