Give me English-speaking Italians.

Sad that I'll never be able to adequately converse directly with people in any language but English. But hey, there's a consolation. I've mastered English to a reasonable degree. That's better than nothing. I can still find 'foreigners' and Italians who speak English. Quite well. I admire them. Respect them. Marvel at them. Because they are bilingual. Even multi-lingual in some instances. The bilingual include my Italian true love. So fortunate. I'm able to learn much about Italy and life and human emotions, particularly love, from her. Reason for me to count my blessings. She not only speaks English, but teaches English and English literature. We make each other better English linguists. I know. I know. I've gotta learn to speak and read Italian. Rudimentary Italian at least. Knowing that I will never be able to fully express my love in Italian. But I can be understood by my true love in English. For which I am thankful. For not being tongue-tied. Meanwhile, one of my most fervent wishes is for my true love to introduce me to Italians who speak English. That's very important. A high priority. A must. She hasn't done nearly enough of the introducing stuff. But I'm applying the pressure. In my most persuasive English. I'm even up to pleading. Because I desperately want to get more of a sense of what it means to be Italian. If I could, I'd strike up conversations with strangers. With Italians I sit next to on the bus or train or on a park bench. I can't. Unless they speak English. And I'm reluctant about approaching strangers and asking, 'Do you speak English?' Of course, if my true love is with me, as she often is, she could volunteer to serve as translator. But still, that's cumbersome. And she's a bit shy about talking to strangers. So, give me Italians that speak English. And I'll write a book. About them. And what it means to be an English-speaking Italian. --Jim Broede