Bruno. My mentor. My teacher.

Bruno looks like an Italian gentleman. Makes sense. Because that’s what he is. He looks dapper walking down Carbonia’s main street, Via Gramsci. With his white moustache. And a gray hat. To hide the bald top of his head. But he still has hair. Long gray hair. On the sides and back. Makes him look modern. And younger than his 65 years. He also speaks some English. And he’s garrulous. Strikes up a conversation easily. Sees me from a distance. Shouts my name. And walks with me. Nice to be seen with Bruno. In distinguished company. He’s really a man about town. Knows what’s going on. If I have a question about what’s happening in Carbonia, Bruno has the answer.  Like me, he’s retired. Used to be an official for trade labor unions. Makes him politically liberal. Socially progressive, too. And he likes gardening. Identifies all the trees and flowers for me. By their Italian names.  He’s teaching me. How to be mistaken for an Italian gentleman. I won’t ever match Bruno. But hey, I’m willing to fake it. I can act the role. By watching Bruno. He’s my mentor. My teacher. –Jim Broede