When we arrived in Italy we realized we were
different. More than just our language and our expectations, it was our sheer
numbers that set us apart. It started at the airport. The immigration officer
collected our passports then looked down at the young faces staring up at him
and exclaimed, "Quattro bambini? Ah, Madonna! Bene, bene." Loosely translated, that
means, "Four children? Oh my God!
Good for you." This wasn’t what I expected. I thought we’d fit
right in.
In California we were definitely not the norm, and when the
population-control bandwagon rolled into town, we didn’t fit. I had often
received cold stares in stores, in parks, and even once in church, as
strangers' eyes flicked down the row of my children and then back up to my face
to register their disapproval. I stared right back at them. I was proud of my
children, and I loved them with a fierceness that surprised me.
I had internalized the stereotype of the typical
Italian family as portrayed in American movies and television—a loud boisterous
household with dozens of bambini. Italy was a Catholic country, and since the
pope lived in Rome, I thought that the Italian people would be especially
careful about obeying the church rules. We knew that after a long fight, the
Italian secular government had managed to legalize birth control only four
months before we arrived, so we expected lots of babies. Finally, I had
thought, we’d fit in. Our family might even seem small.
But my expectations
couldn’t have been more wrong. I was amazed to discover that the population in
Italy was potentially on the decline. Most of the families we met had just one
child. We were in the heart of the industrial north, where the economics of
raising a child had trumped church law. For the people of that region, it was
an accepted part of their life that you created only the number of children you
felt you could afford. In my innocence I had not considered that my husband was
an only child, and that I had many more cousins than he did. But the members of
my family are dreamy, idealistic Irish-Catholics, the opposite of the pragmatic
Northern Italians. Rather than feeling at home at last, I realized we were
still out of place.
Paul, the oldest, turned five just after our arrival
at Gabi. He looked like George, with the same long face and wavy hair, which,
like his father’s, had been blonde until the age of four. He would get George’s
thick, curly, brown hair when he grew older.
He was a typical oldest child: conscientious, kind, and anxious to
please us. From a young age he focused on what he was doing and worked hard. He
was very outgoing and had been well liked by all of the new relatives he met in
England, as well as the ones in Italy.
James, at three and a half when we arrived in Italy,
was a little more happy-go-lucky than Paul. He too, looked a lot like his
father, but his round face reflected my Irish ancestry, and his hair was a
light brown, as mine had been. He was much shyer with strangers than Paul, and
he often shrunk back when he was approached by anyone he didn’t know. A typical
middle child, he was adept at amusing himself with his Lego blocks or by
looking at books. He could also stay focused on a task and was generally a
cooperative, if talkative, child.
Matthew also looked just like George and shared
George’s long face. His hair was straight like mine, and dark brown like
George’s, and he had brown eyes like George. Even at nineteen months, his
energy level surpassed that of anyone in the family. It was hard to manage him
peacefully for a full day. He challenged decisions he didn’t like with loud
yells and a defiant red face. He longed to keep up with his older brothers and
bellowed when he had to stay behind. In
compensation for his volatile nature, he was a very loving child who hugged as
often as he howled.
Margaret Ann was very different in coloring from the
boys, or George and me. She had silky blonde hair and deep blue eyes. Her face
combined features of both of us, but she looked like neither of us. She had a
sunny nature, and she mothered Matthew. I often found her hugging him when he
was upset about something—at least twice a day. She also told him off if he
misbehaved, which he didn’t take very well. She was more content to play with
her toys than Matthew. Whereas he would yell in frustration and give up when
a puzzle piece didn’t fit, she played around with it until it did. She was
easy-going, like George, and loved to sit and listen to me read books to her. I
was lucky in that all of my children were bright. I worked hard to stimulate
their minds, as I had read in my childcare books that the first five years were
the most important. I knew that the rhythm of their young lives stayed with
them forever. I hoped that the farm would add an interesting back-beat to that
rhythm.
My focus on educating them was important when
September came and with it the need to enroll Paul in school.
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| Paul, Matthew, Simona (an only child), Margaret Ann. James off exploring, probably. |
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