When you consciously
decide to migrate to another Country and you are not really in a hurry, a
couple of things should be considered especially if you have kids.
Language is one of the
first. This sounds pretty obvious, I know. The truth is that obvious things can
often surprise me. In 1950 migration from Italy to Canada, Argentina or US was quite
different. Italy was a poor Country (now it is going there again,
unfortunately) devastated by the Second World War. In the country yards people
were literally starving and one of the best solution was to leave, to go where
future was offering alternatives, opportunities, work and bread. Back then many
people didn’t have many things. No properties, no money, no luggage, no Skype,
no English or Spanish but a big, humongous, unbelievable courage. I do believe
that circumstances and the need to survive can make people brave and able to go
beyond their own expectations.
My generation is
probably less brave compared to that although, in any case, to leave your
certainties, family, friends and things you have been always known requires a
good amount of courage. This occasionally can turn into something as pathetic
as extremely hilarious.
We considered
different options other than Canada. We started thinking to move from one city
to another in Sicily (as if this could make a difference!), then from the south
to the north of Italy, then from Italy to somewhere in Europe. When considering
Europe, we thought that Germany would have been nice. Germany is actually nice
but it was not meant to be. In a moment of rare wisdom I imagined myself and
Alessandro dealing with 2 teenagers, Lorenzo and Maia, in need of help to
complete their homework. We couldn’t have offered them all our potentials because of the huge barrier of language. I also remember myself trying to motivate my
concerns starting from a matter of fact: generations have always been divided by
an unquestionable ideological/behavioural gap. We were about to leave what we
knew with the additional challenges given by a linguistic barrier. So, I
proposed to look for a Spanish or English speaking destination considering we
both were able to make us understandable when speaking them! Canada was our
wisest choice, and the consideration of the potential issues related to the new
language our second wisest one!
When we arrived here
Maia was 14 months old. One of the nicest neighbours I have ever met, the second
day after my arrival, proposed me and Maia to join her and her toddler in a
Moms and Tots program at the library. Still dealing with the jet leg, I was seating
among Canadian moms dealing with Canadian tots eating fishes and cheerios
(different snacks from Italian kids) and singing songs I didn’t know. I
remember I was finally extremely happy when the lady started singing “Old
McDonald had a farm”. Finally I knew one! Only one thing needed to be change:
instead of saying Nella Vecchia Fattoria,
I needed to start talking about that old guy McDonald!
“Old McDonald had a
faaaarmmmmm, ia ia yoooooo”, Maia was clapping with me...
“and in that farm he
had a cowwwwwww, ia ia yooooo”, still clapping and smile...
“and a moo moo here,
and a moo moo there...”, OK this was a little bit different, but manageable.
So, going ahead, there
was a sheep that was saying Baaaahhhh
versus the Italian Beeeeeeee; a
rooster that was doing a cock-a-doodle-doo
versus an Italian chicchirichì; a
horse that was doing neigh, against
an Italian ihhhhhhhh and so on until
Maia started looking at me a little bit concerned and I started fearing that I
had no hope to survive to that song. I was proud of my song though.
So, I decided to keep
going until we arrived at the last animal: the piglet. What happened at that
point will be carved in my heart and soul forever. I won’t forget for the rest
of my life the deepness of the silence in the big, colourful room when against a
Canadian oink, oink, my nose produced one of the worst sound I have ever heard.
In Italian it is written grunf, grunf but
no doubt that word doesn’t reflect the sound at all! It is a sound that doesn’t
come from the mouth, but from somewhere between the mouth and the
nose...somewhere exactly in between!
Silence...Silence...Silence...In
a slow motion, Maia looked at me and crawled away!
Three years have
passed and our kids can now speak English fluently and without any Italian
accent. We keep speaking Italian home (that is mandatory!) and, meanwhile, we can
read, watch and help them with spelling, math, geography without difficulties.
However, my prophecy made its way in our life earlier than foreseen.
Two weeks ago I could
join Maia for her hip hop class. It was actually a Parents & Kids program
again! After the first 15 minutes, Maia gently asked me to go and sit down. One
week later, same scene, same request, same situation: Maia dancing happy by
herself among other kids and other parents. Observing her I tried to understand
her request and going beyond the human disappointment and sadness that a parent
can feel when “refused”, I was actually happy. My 4 years old daughter is an independent
person. She is not me, she is another individual and my role is just to give my
hand to her trying to make her feel the urgency of respecting basic principles.
I spent the rest of the hour looking proudly at her and her sense of freedom.
Once again, a new
lesson: keep it simple! After few days, a revelation! “Maia, why didn’t you
want to dance with me? Am I ugly? Don’t you like me?”... ”No Mamma, io ti amo!”
...”Why? Do you just want to dance by yourself?”... “I like you looking at me!”...
“Maia, but I don’t understand!”
...
Silence...
“Mom? You don’t know how to dance Incy Wincy Spider!”
Thank God, we didn’t
go to Germany!
