A look at our life as we learn to navigate Italian culture
I was just checking my email when Trey came up to me and asked…
“Dad, do people have to cut the skin off of penguins before they eat them?”
Uhhh… I don’t think people eat penguins. But I suppose you would have to. Wouldn’t you? Or is it like chicken?
We were very happy to have beautiful weather nearly the entire time we spent in Iowa visiting my dad. The kids were able to play outside all the time, and it was good for them to just run around and be kids.
One evening, my dad surprised Lance with a little present. He had noticed Lance taking an interest in baseball. My sister had just joined a softball team, and spent some time in the backyard practicing. Lance was somehow hooked. The kids haven’t been exposed to baseball very much – it just isn’t popular in Italy.
My dad called Lance over and placed his very old, very worn baseball glove in his hands. Lance’s eyes were huge, and the only thing he could say was a sheepish, “Thanks” and a big hug. He ran outside to go try it out.
Throughout the next few days, my dad found an old baseball bat and baseball for them to play with. He learned to toss the ball up in the air and practice hitting. And he got really good! Since we’ve been back in Rockford there hasn’t been a day where he hasn’t gone outside to practice – and so far no broken windows!
I guess it’s time to find a baseball team in Ancona.
Trey is currently sitting on the exam table after his checkup. The doctor is filling out paperwork. I and the other kids are sitting in the room, waiting for the doctor to finish.
Trey: Doctor…?
The doctor continues his paperwork…
Trey: Doctor…?
No response
Trey: Doctor!
Doctor: Yes?
Trey: Am I crazy?
The room chuckles
Doctor: Well that’s up to your dad!
A few moments pass…
Trey: Doctor…?
The doctor continues his paperwork…
Trey: Doctor…?
No response
Trey: Doctor!
Doctor: Yes?
Trey: I have a lot of gas.
The room erupts into uncontrollable laughter, and the kids notice that dad’s face is bright red.
One thing that changed in America from when we left for Italy until now is Self-Checkout. When I first saw one, I thought, “How nice! I can check out on my own and save so much time.”
How wrong I was. Saturday night I went to Wal-Mart and the place was packed. Every checkout was four and five people deep. For some reason the express lanes were closed. The perfect time to try our self-checkout. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
The self-checkout lines were also full, and I got behind three young men from Africa. They were speaking to each other in French, and we generally confused by the whole process. The last of the three to check out was having trouble with his card, and the machine kept beeping at him. His friends thought this was hilarious. The people behind me were getting very impatient. I was less so, because boy have I been the foreigner before!
Finally, the harried supervisor of the self-checkout (whatever they’re called) comes over and quickly swipes the man’s card and punches some button on the screen. Now I realize that he has a credit card and doesn’t know his PIN. But the supervisor punched debit. The beeping begins again. Lots of groans behind me. I try to help them out, but by now the machine is convinced that someone is trying to rip it off and says “Please wait for assistance.”
The supervisor swoops over, speaks to the man very loudly (because all foreigners who don’t speak English well are also partially deaf), and gets it all squared away. The man apologized to me, and I smiled and said, “No problem.”
Now it’s my turn. Scan number one – hydrocortisone. Scan number two – super glue. The machine locks down again, waiting for a supervisor. She’s now nowhere to be found. I wait and wait, and the people behind me are again moaning. Finally, she comes over, types in some magic code, which then causes the computer to have her verify my age. You have to be 18 to buy super glue. As I paid, I turned behind me and wished the couple next in line good luck.
In theory, self-checkout sounds great. But why do stores want to give up the last chance to leave a good impression with their customers? And why do so many items require the supervisor to come over and type in her magic code? Checkout with a real live human being may be slower, but she can at least glance up and see that there’s no need to card me for super glue.
So we’re in America on “furlough.” Furlough is kind of a strange word that doesn’t mean much to people I think. No one is really sure what exactly it is, probably because we’ve only heard of missionaries taking one. Many missionaries use other names for it like “home service.”
Furlough sounds like a big vacation, which I am learning it is not. While it has been wonderful visiting with so many people who have lots of encouraging things to say about the work in Ancona, at the same time it has been very difficult to be away from our home in Italy and the work there. We sort of feel like we have a foot in each culture, not exactly comfortable in either one. It’s hard to live out of suitcases. Traveling takes its toll on a family with small children. Just the number of people and churches that we want to see is enough to make our heads spin!
I feel ungrateful as I go back and reread what I have written. So many people have sacrificed to give us a great home in Rockford while we are here. People have thrown open their arms to welcome us wherever we have gone. It’s been a huge blessing to see the kids reconnect with Grandmas and Grandpas, aunts, uncles, and cousins.
Furlough is an interesting beast. It certainly isn’t a vacation. But it’s not the day-to-day life of ministry in Italy. One of these days I’m going to come up with a really good name for it.
I just ran the numbers and I have spent about 7% of my life in Italy, and 93% in America. If you look at the statistics the vast majority of “me” should behave like an American would behave. But I have been amazed at how strongly that 7% influences me.
Walking into Taco Bell the other day and noticed a small sign in the window advertising Fourth Meal. They were inviting all of us to come into Taco Bell for the meal after dinner and before breakfast.
My mind flitted back to times back in Joplin when Josh, Matty and I would head to T-Bell for a midnight snack. A Chalupa, a crunchy taco or two, and a huge drink always seemed to hit the spot. Despite my expanding waistline, I couldn’t avoid the temptation of Fourth Meal.
But when I saw the sign, the 7% of me that is Italian was appalled! Who on earth needs to eat four meals?! As I look at my daily activity level, there’s no way I can justify the need to eat an entire extra meal. And if someone did eat a fourth meal, why waste it on inexpensive food like a bean burrito? In my mind I began to make wild, Italian hand gestures about the absurdity of Fourth Meal.
However, 7% is a clear minority. The 93% of me that is American is thinking about sneaking to Taco Bell right now for a quick Chalupa. If only Josh and Matty were here…
Heidi’s dad surprised us one day by telling us that he wanted to get the kids four-wheelers. He has quite a few acres of land, complete with trails that go through the woods, which are perfect for four-wheeling. So when the vehicles (and helmets) arrived, we drove the kids out to the farm to try them out.
The four wheelers have a speed control on them, so we decide how fast they get to go. Trey’s hardly can make it up a hill, and we are just fine with that!
Lance, however, is a little more confident in his off-roading abilities. So we have been gradually increasing the speed of his four-wheeler. He’s mostly careful, but you can see in the smile on his face as he makes a tight corner that the testosterone in him is fighting for control of his normally reserved personality. One day, he sharply turned as he was about to go down a hill. His four wheeler flipped, and Lance went flying.
Those of you who know us know that I am much more calm and collected in emergencies. Heidi flails about and panics. But for some reason our roles switched and I went running out there and Heidi stayed put. Lance got right back up, shook his head, and said “Woah.” For the first time I think he realized that there is a little bit of danger involved here. In those few seconds while I brushed him off and made sure he was OK, I could see in his face a maturity that I haven’t seen in him before. He looked me in the eyes and said, “I’ll be more careful next time.” And I was proud of him when he hopped back on and tried again.
Heidi and I are learning not to worry too much. They’re having such a good time being with Grandpa as they explore the trails in the woods. And maybe Lance is learning lessons that he’ll remember when I hand him the keys to the car for the first time.
Chloe is the lone early riser in a family of people that aren’t big fans of morning time. One morning she bounced into my bed and whispered in my ear:
“Daddy, I know that you and Mommy are the tooth fairy and that you sneak into my bedroom after I lose my tooth and take it and put money under it. Mom told me.”
In my half-asleep state, I wasn’t really sure what to say. Was she trying to trick the information out of me? Did her mom really tell her that? Was I too loud the night before when I did the tooth-dollar swap? I paused for a second and said, “Are you sure?”
She bounced out of the room, just as happy, and said, “Yep!”
I only later found out that earlier in the morning she had asked her mom for the truth, and Heidi (no doubt under duress) spilled the beans. Lance also figured out the real story. So we swore them both to secrecy since their little brother is still waiting to lose his first tooth.
My teammate recently faced a close call with the tooth fairy as well. Read about it here.
Watch out Santa … your days are numbered…
My father-in-law thinks that I haven’t been posting enough to the blog. He’s right, but blogging on our slow dial-up connection is a frustrating experience. I told him I have a list of things that I want to blog about, and these next few posts are dedicated to him! 
One challenge about living in Italy is that it seems like there are relatively few opportunities for the kids to get out of the city and into nature. At least, few opportunities for people like us without a car!
I jumped at the chance when my friend, Erik, offered to drive us out to Silver Falls State Park to the Trail of Ten Falls. We packed the kids into the van, made a bunch of sandwiches, and started on the trail, not really knowing how long it was. About five miles later, we finished! And the kids didn’t complain once. We just kept walking and enjoying all the different waterfalls that we saw (you can see pictures here). Even our youngest kept up with the all of us! I have some pretty tough kids.