To be my faithful translator.

I could teach my Italian true love lots about Italy. Stuff she doesn’t know. And probably needs to know. If only she’d serve as my translator full-time. Which would allow me to approach total strangers. On the street.  Interviewing them on the spot. Unexpectedly. Tell them I’m an American. Keenly curious. About Italians and Italy. And so I’m conducting interviews with Italians. Randomly. Strangers on the street. I want them to tell me about themselves. About what it’s like to be an Italian. So that I could put it in a book. Maybe titled, ‘What it’s like to be an Italian.’ I’ll bet that even my Italian true love doesn’t fully know. Maybe she’s never asked herself the question. She’s waiting for me to ask. Really, she doesn’t have to answer. Because  I already know. That she feels very much alive in Italy. But that she has no qualms about leaving. To visit other parts of the world. And she wouldn’t mind living away from Italy for an extended period of time. Maybe years. But she’d miss Italy, too. And would want to return. If not forever. For lengthy visits. Because she truly is Italian. In blood. In mind. In soul. Just the kind of Italian I need. To be my faithful translator. –Jim Broede