"Nonnas"
Author: Emily Hagenmaier
Program: Syracuse-Florence
I want them to smile at me. Those "nonnas" whom I pass on sidewalks. They are everywhere, wearing babushkas and black podiatric shoes, carrying groceries. I peek through their plastic bags -- vino sancto, castagne, filetti di acciughe. Hmmm.... Intriguing. And their shoes, how do they have such tiny feet? I am captivated by this population of Italians. They speak many stories without even opening their mouths. But I want them to. I want them to know that I notice. I want them to smile back.
I'm used to smiling at old people when we pass one another on the street. In fact, I seek this out. But when I got to Italy -- people don't do this. They don't smile at each other on sidewalks. Or -- am I missing something? Maybe they don't see me. Maybe they are turned off by my blue jeans and height. I must be twice as tall as some of those "nonnas." Maybe to them I am a terrifying, mythological Amazon. An Amazon from America! Where they have no gun control and an idiot president.
Mama mia!
I try to put myself in the imaginations of old ladies as I pass them on the sidewalks. Maybe if I can understand them, they will see me. But what if they think it's brazen for me to smile! What if it is rude to look directly into the eyes of elders?
Oh, mio Dio!
But, every once and awhile, she smiles back, a nonna as I pass her. At first she was surprised that I smiled. But no, I wouldn't say that she was displeased. And shereturns the smile. Her face lights up, sometimes even revealing a less than complete set of teeth. Full of character and originality, she is a truly beautiful sight. Surely as beautiful as any painting I studied in art history that day.
Though they might deceive you with their cult of babushkas and marshmallowshoes, there are no two identical "nonnas." Some smile back and others either do not see or are maybe too introverted. But I've decided it's always worth it to smile anyway.
I see you.
