Everyone's a Critic

As soon as our front door opens, the little girl shoots in with the energy that can only come with great curiosity combined with inappropriate quantities of sugar. Her mother is unconcerned, and with barely a glance at her 4 year old cannon rocketing around our small flat, she goes to the living room to talk with AmoreMio about private chemistry lessons for her elder daughter.

In the mean time, the little girl sprints through every room three times, questions streaming from her mouth as fast as she can breathe.





What's this?
What's that do?
Can you eat this?
Why is it green?
Why do you put it there?
Do you like this?

One of my little cousins has similar symptoms of insatiable curiosity, and I find it is much easier to just answer her questions as simply as possible, occasionally having to pull nonsense right off the top of my head. In the end, with this tactic, they usually run out of questions before I run out of answers, and I consider it a good exercise in creativity.

This time though, I have only answered a couple questions when the little girl frowns up at me through her huge violet framed glasses.

"Perche' non sai parlare?"

"Cosa?" I ask, bewildered.

She's taken a break from her exploring and is sitting in the kitchen with a glass of water. She takes a casual sip before repeating her question, "Why don't you know how to talk?"

It occurs to me that she has probably never met a non-Italian (Caltanissetta isn't exactly known for it's international population), and I offer, tentatively, "You mean my accent? You can here my American accent?"

"Accent" She repeats, tasting this new word, but probably unaware of it's definition. Regardless, she assumes that it's the explanation for my unusual speech and merely affirms, "You talk strange", before hopping off her chair to run another lap around the house.

Just when I think I've got the Italian thing down, a 4 year old comes along to show me my place.