Help from Giorgia on my mind.

The next time I go for a haircut, I’m gonna take along Giorgia, the 16-year-old niece of my Italian true love. Because she’s an Italian who speaks fluent English. The new generation Italians are becoming bilingual. Indeed, a good sign.   Anyway, Giorgia is brazen and confident enough to enter an Italian barber shop, largely the domain of men only.   I’ve been longing to ask my Italian barber all sorts of questions. But I’ve been tongue-tied. I don’t speak much Italian. Therefore, I need a go-between. A translator. For 20 minutes.  The time it takes to get a haircut. The barber is an old man. Probably not as old as me. But I’ll find out. That, and more. It’s a handicap when two people don’t speak the same language. But there are ways of overcoming handicaps.  My barber talks to me a little bit. In Italian. Which I rarely fathom. Except  when we supplement our words with sign language. Once he mentioned Brooklyn.   I jumped to a conclusion that he might have once visited New York. Or he has relatives or friends living there. I'll get a clarification. And we’ll talk about the barber trade in Italy. And I wonder if I’m his only American customer. Oh, so many questions. Next, I’m gonna try to convince my Italian true love to take me along the next time she visits the hair dresser. The unisex hairstyling beauty salons have yet to reach the city of Carbonia where I live. They are still strictly for women. I don’t like the discrimination. But I guess that when in Italy, one must start acting more like an Italian. Which means learning to speak the language. So I can become more inquisitive. About Italian ways. Without the need for translation. --Jim Broede