I'm Italian. And from the city. Philadelphia, that is. I grew up in an Italian neighborhood called Tacony. If you're from New York, you understand Italian neighborhoods.
When I meet someone from Brooklyn or someone brought up in an Italian household, it's understood. How we grew up, our experiences, how we operate in the world. No explanations needed. If fact, in customer service, if am talking on the phone to someone from Philly or New York, we immediately connect.
When you grow up in the city, you have an edge. You learn to be a little tough. It helps with survival.
When you grow up Italian, you learn to talk over each other and listen to three different conversations at the same time. I wouldn't say it's a gentle culture. Passionate, loving, but not necessarily gentle. Kind, giving, ferociously protective of our families. Lots of wonderful qualities, not the least of which is good food and fabulous family gatherings. But not placid, not meek.
I moved to Maryland suburbs in 1986 and I came to think of it as "The land of vanilla people." I don't mean this as an insult. It's really more about me and my journey to fit into Maryland culture. People spoke quietly. They didn't yell. They didn't shout for their kids a block away. They didn't shout to the neighbors from their porches.
So I tried changing my speech patterns, removing the long "a" sounds. I tried rephrasing sentences in a more pleasing way, more tactful, more benign. In the beginning I WANTED to leave behind my gritty city-ness. I was determined to throw out my edge and become cultivated!
Evidently, some of my neighbors wanted that as well! When the kids were little, a neighbor said to me, "I hate it when you tell the kids to 'shut up!"
I asked, "What am I supposed to say?"
She said, "Tell them to 'Be quiet."
So I tried it. When the kids were noisy I said, "Be quiet." And they lowered their voices, for about a minute. And then I realized I didn't want them to be quiet. I wanted them to SHUT UP!
In the end, I've assimilated some of this culture. Or maybe I've just matured. I've found a way to be me and still have friends! I've found a way to communicate with customers that works. I know how to shift gears and be professional.
Sometimes, I still have to think about being tactful before I respond. Sometimes I still have to swallow my first reaction and wait for a calmer version. Or call my daughter and ask her to rephrase it for me! Because I'm really a bottom line person. I like to tell it like it is. It saves time. My Maryland friends think this is hysterical. They wait for it. A few of them want to be more like me. I hear this a lot, "I wish I could just say what I'm thinking like you do!" Just put it out there. And I want to be more like them, gentle, genteel.
When I was in my 40's, I became independent (i.e. divorced.) I took back my name - DiCicco. And I felt like I crawled back into my own skin.
When I turned 50, I let my hair go natural (i.e.grey.) even while taking a lot of flack for that! I found myself just wanting to be me. It has become so much work to try to fit in. To try to be something that goes completely against my grain. To explain myself to people who don't understand me. More than that, because they don't understand my background, they judge me. I am expected to behave a certain way in this culture. And I feel gauche.
I am remarried now and husband is from Colorado, also a different culture. We have had many conversations about our cultural differences ending with me saying, "Stop trying to make me vanilla!"
What works in Philly doesn't work here. My husband was on a learning curve for the first few years. He would ask me why I was yelling at him. I would say, "I'm not yelling!"
That's why I love hanging around with my Italian friends. And when I go back to Philly, I slip back into my beginnings, my roots. And it feels so good to be home.
I've come home, to me.
My big Italian family!
Angela DiCicco
8/15/19 revision
Labels: being italian, cultural differences, growing up italian, Italian, italian family, not fitting in, philadelphia, The Italian Grandmama's Guide
