A Slavic-looking American mixed in

When Italians stop me on the street to ask for directions, it’s a compliment. Or so I think. They mistake me for an Italian. One who speaks fluent Italian. Of course, they are wrong. I’m an English-speaking Americano. Legitimately taken for an Italian gentleman. No, my Italian true love tells me. I don’t look anything like an Italian. Not even like an American. Instead, she says I look Slavic or Russian. Of course, I disagree. Twice yesterday, I was asked for directions. Taken for a fellow Italian, I presume. It happens often. Though I’m not sure that there’s an Italian look per se. I look at passersby. Giving them long gazes. And ask myself, ‘Is this really an Italian?’ Can’t really tell for sure. If it’s a black guy, I suspect he’s African. Most likely from Nigeria or Ghana. Many of ‘em speak English. As for the rest, it’s a 99 percent chance they’re Italian. With one Slavic-looking Americano mixed in.—Jim Broede