Ciao Ragazzi!

 

by Lynda Smith Pinto-Torres

 

            I have joined the ever-growing number of colleagues who have taken one or more Italian classes with Professor Biagio Auricchio.  For years I’ve admired his charm, enthusiasm, energy, sense of humor, dashing clothes, and, yes, his good looks.  He arrives first thing in the morning and greets us with a broad smile, his white teeth matching his mustache and shock of hair.  Ciao, he says as he flies by in a crisp suit and tie.  Soon his infectious laughter fills our offices as he talks to a colleague on the phone or greets one of the stream of students at his door.  Once in a while, he’ll stop by to tell us a quick joke while he’s using the copier.  Now, at long last, I have the honor and privilege of calling him il mio professore.

            I like to get to his class early and take my seat among the self-conscious students, young women with freshly-applied makeup and scant clothing, men pulling their desks closer to them to share workbooks (which they, for some reason, always seem to have left behind).  There is an expectant hush before Biagio bursts into the room.

            Ciao, ragazzi! 

            Within seconds, the white walls of our classroom are the houses lining a Venetian canal and Biagio the gondolier, his voice rising and falling over waves of laughter.  No one escapes his good-natured teasing. 

            After he has explained a grammar rule, a student asks, “How can I remember that?”

            “How do you remember that handsome boy’s phone number?” he responds.

            Pause.  “Well, I guess I say it over and over until I know it by heart,” she replies.

            “Aha!”  Biagio bites his knuckle (an Italian hand gesture which must mean something like “Duh!”).  His eyes twinkle.  He then calls on Paolo, who leans closer to Marcella’s desk and begins to read her answer.

            Biagio interrupts him.  “Oh!  Che fortuna!  You have a personal coach – la bella Marcella.”  (Students laugh.)  “Paolo, tell me, when was the last time you forgot your cell phone, huh?”

            Paolo lifts his shoulders sheepishly.

            “Never, right?  Right?”

            “Maybe once,” Paolo replies.

            “È incredibile!  You guys never forget your cell phones, but can never keep up with your workbooks!”

            Sandra and Angela enter the classroom ten minutes late.

            “Ah!  Le belle Sandra ed Angela.! How sweet of you to grace us with your presence!  Grazie, belle!”

            A student reads the correct answer.  “Bravo, Giovanni!”

            Another reads hers.  “Brava, bella!”

            I mispronounce a word.  Biagio’s eyebrows shoot up.  “Cosa?  What?  Lynda has invented a new word!”

            Before enrolling, I was worried about taking the class for a couple of reasons.  For one thing, I was afraid that Italian and Spanish were so similar that I’d get confused.  (After all, I have trouble keeping the names of my two sons-in-law straight . . . Monty and Marty!)  I’d also wondered how I’d manage adding two more hours to my longest teaching days.  It would mean leaving home before 7:00 a.m. and not returning until close to 10:00 p.m.  Where would I get the energy?  Also, when would I have time to complete the homework? 

            I needn’t have worried about Italian and Spanish being too much alike, as a quick glance at some vocabulary will indicate:

 

 

 

 

                       

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are plenty of differences between the two languages!  On the other hand, the pronunciation is quite similar except for a few letter combinations.  For instance, ci in Italian is pronounced like the “chee” in “cheese,” and che is pronounced like the “ke” in “keg,” gn sounds like Spanish ñ or the “n” in “dominion,” and gl is pronounced like Spanish ll or the “ll” in “million.”   There’s no doubt about it . . . Italian and Spanish are indeed different languages, and knowing one does not impede learning the other.  In fact, Spanish has been a great asset to me.

            As for my concerns about finding enough energy and time, the class itself has energized me (it’s the highlight of my day), and I often do homework on the train and listen to CDs in the car.  At home, I practice Italian with my husband, Paco (who has taken every class Biagio teaches!).  He also buys me picture dictionaries and sticks notes on objects around our apartment. . .  il rubinetto (the faucet), l’acquaio (the sink), il pavimento (the floor), lo specchio (the mirror).

            Being a student in a beginning language class puts me on an equal footing with my own students.  I’ve become more sensitive to their challenges and more aware of the extra time they might need to form or answer simple questions, perform short dialogues, complete assignments, or take tests.  I understand the difficulty of memorizing spelling which seems to follow no rules.  I know exactly what it feels like to panic when called upon in class or when taking a test.  I know the importance of clear instructions and sufficient preparation before expecting good results.  My own students seem intrigued and encouraged by my example.

            Biagio’s love for his native country is infectious.  At the end of each class, he shows movies – fashion designers, Ferrari manufacturers, singing butchers, cooks, photographers.  We visit small towns, remote mountain villages, bustling markets.  We meet simple folk and celebrities.  These movies, along with his explanations of the culture and history of Italy, plus his mouth-watering recipes, all make me yearn to go back to Italy. 

            Every summer, Biagio takes a group of MDC students with him to his homeland.  This year (from May 7^th to May 28^th),  they will live in Florence where, between Italian lessons, they will visit Ponte Vecchio, Piazzale Michelangelo, the Accademia, and, of course, the Duomo and Battistero (with its “Doors of Paradise”).  They’ll spend a day at the amazing Uffizi Museum, and they’ll take excursions to lots of other places, including Siena, Venice, and Rome.

            Maybe Paco and I will go back to Italy before too long, and when we’re there, we won’t expect Italians to speak to us in Spanish!  Mille grazie, professore! 

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