Last Sunday I attended the Christmas party of my Italian family. I hadn’t seen many of them since August.* Often we see younger generations make good-natured fun of the older, but Lara*, at age 90, is one exception. Observing her 39-year-old grandson talking to me “with his hands,” as the expression goes, she stood just out of his peripheral view, mimicking his hand movements, waiting for him to notice. Oblivious, he simply continued his story. Lara finally gave up, whacked him on the arm, and then walked away. As I said in my 8/30 post, both Mario and Lara are still in feisty humor.
In the event this image invokes the Italian stereotype often presented to us on television, for the record, Lara is not one of the Italians; she married into the family, creating yet another half-Italian household. No one in my Italian family fits the head-slapping stereotype.
At the beginning of that party Dallas and I were matched, at 4-8 and 4/8, respectively. By the end of the day Dallas was 4-9.
Four responses left. Once again, my spirits want to wane but family energy prevents that; I’m still high and flying from the Christmas party. I think of a sentence I wrote near the end of Half Italian: “Is there a greater mood elevator than being with cousins you love?”
*See 8/30 post.