Hey, that's my Italian niece.

I’m thinking of 16-year-old Giorgia as my new-found niece. Why not? After all, she’s my Italian true love’s niece. That makes my true love her aunt. And we are more or less hitched.  That would make me Giorgia’s uncle, more or less. At least by proxy.  And as a relative, I have a right to encourage Giorgia to seriously consider becoming a journalist.  She’s well-suited for it. She speaks two languages. Fluently. Italian. English. She’s intelligent. She’s curious. She’s pretty. Actually, beautiful. Which gives her an inside track as a TV journalist. She’s got it all. Now it’s my role to sell Giorgia on the idea. Becoming a journalist. On the glamour and the personal fulfillment that can come with such a pursuit. From what I’ve seen, she’d be a natural at it. As an inquisitive teen-ager, she might as well give it a try. Nothing ventured. Nothing gained. I’ll offer to take her along on interviews. For pieces I write in my blog. I gab with Italians. She’ll see how I go about it. She can be a big help. Using her bilingual talents. She can translate my English questions into Italian. And then she can turn the Italian answers into English.  I’ll write my piece. In English, of course. I’ll suggest that Giorgia write her own versions.  In English. In Italian.  Wouldn’t surprise me if she writes the best story. Wonderful idea, isn’t it? I’ll not only be Giorgia’s uncle. I’ll teach her the craft of journalism. Wow! If she ever becomes a successful and famous journalist/writer, I’ll become a  braggart. Boasting. Hey, that’s my Italian niece. –Jim Broede