Italy
I was a sophomore in college when my roommate, Amanda and I went to see Puxatawney Phil. I suppose someone born on Groundhog’s day should go to Puxatawney at least once in their life and they should probably know how to spell it correctly without doing a Google search, but, I can’t and to this day, I can never seem to remember if the groundhog seeing his shadow means spring is around the corner or 6 weeks away, which to upstate New Yorkers would mean exactly the same thing. So that is my excuse.
A February 2nd birthday means you have a chance for a snow day, just how much of a chance, we could calculate with my new 8th grade probability math skills that I gained while spending afternoons with a somewhat grumpy middle schooler who, due to a bad Hockey concussion, got half days of school and an hour of advanced math and social studies instruction from me at the Moore Memorial Library.
The only time I saw him smile was when he said, “I don’t know if you should be excited that you are getting the same math answers as a kid with a brain injury.”
He sometimes growled and I am not proud to say this, but I sometimes growled back. And when I said goodbye to him the day before I left, he hugged me. I was surprised.
Today is February 2nd. I don’t think Italy has a groundhog day equivalent, but they do have snow days. And today, I got one.
“Happy Birthday to ME!” I said as I flung myself onto my bed after hearing Olivia, a person I do not know say, I could go back to bed.
Go back to bed?
Seriously, on a birthday snowday!? Impossible.
Breakfast. Coffee. Juice. My computer in my lap, as my foggy brain tries to type this.
I have been back in Milan for five days. Landed Saturday, started teaching Monday.
The balance of jet lag and adrenaline, a beautiful thing.
My old students look like giants, their kind eyes providing relief, as they reach for a hug, which I gladly give. “New” teachers who have replaced friends look at me a little closer than is comforting and the colleagues I do know, allow for a moment when I can actually breathe. It is weird to be both new and old at the same time.
A couple of months ago, I texted Elisabeth, a past student who has become a great friend.
“I am going to go back to Italy, but don’t tell anyone, ok?” I was half joking, for there were absolutely no plans or options. But I have started to ask for what I want (if only to the air).
“To teach?” she texted back.
“I don’t know, haha.” I responded.
“When you talk about Italy, it is like you are talking about your great love.” She would later say.
“Something happens to your eyes.” Heather agreed.
I wonder if all great love rests on the eyelids?
When Mike told me about the potential position just three weeks ago, and asked what I thought about it, I wrote back and said:
“I feel like I stand up straighter when I think of Milan. It feels like when I try on a dress that I really love, and I go up on my tiptoes and my hands go out to the side and Amy laughs and says, “God you look like you are trying to be a Barbie doll.” Quite simply, I feel prettier there. I picture the old buildings and cobblestone streets and all of you… and I know all of you are not there, or there in the same way now. I know life has moved and changed and though I know I am able to adapt to changes in circumstances, I just wonder about it…”
Mike wrote back,
“It will not be the same...
but it will still be good.”
I was hired. I moved. I am here… back at ASM, trying to process it all.
Mike is my assistant principal now. He is no longer my teaching partner.
Things are completely different. But he was right…
Thank you.
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