Am I Really Italian?

In part, I am. A very small part, that is. It's been hard thinking of myself as Italian in any way after going to Italy and visiting my genealogical home. To compare myself to such a rich and beautiful history that I have never really known until now seems almost unrealistic.

I didn't grow up learning Italian and I didn't know what it was like to experience genuine Italian culture throughout my life. The closest I've ever come to Italy before now was eating Barilla pasta with Ragu sauce every once in a while. And I don't even boil my pasta correctly; I throw it in the water before it's even started boiling! What kind of part-Italian does that??? 😱

But I still felt that it would be tragic not to come face-to-face with my roots - what little there were -  and go back to the city of Como decades after my great-great somethings decided to leave.

For the past few days, I've been trying to reconcile my watered down Italian blood with Como to see if I felt at home in the city. And today, I was touched by the most ordinary of moments.

I went to a little cafe near the Como Nord Lago train station and sat for a bit as I ate my cheese danish and sipped from my cappuccino while taking in the sights of a place I'd come to love. When I was ready to pay, I went to the counter and, knowing no Italian whatsoever, tried to figure out how to say that I was prepared for the check.

To my surprise, the host knew some English (not many people in Como speak English very well) and asked if I was Italian. I actually had to think about my answer for a moment. Do I say "Yes" and own up to being the mutt Italian that I am? Or do I keep it simple and say "No" just to get out quick and painless?

Before I could answer, the host said "Maybe a little bit?" I was touched. I know that seems silly, but it genuinely struck me when he said that. I have always been so worried about claiming to be Italian to actual, real Italians because, in truth, the only Italian thing about me is my last name.

I never wanted to insult an entire population of people by claiming to be a part of their culture when I was merely a diluted version. I was so surprised and overjoyed to hear a purebred, honest-to-God Italian man recognize that I was part Italian - that there was a spot for me in his heritage and national identity.

I think I probably scared him as I smiled from ear to ear and said "Si!" with a little too much zeal. He had no idea he'd just made my day. I know now that, in future, when asked if I'm Italian, I'll think of this moment and respond "Yes, a little bit!" with total, uninhibited pride, no matter how silly that may seem.