No longer a stranger.

I'm used to listening to chatter. In Italian. From the workmen remodeling our kitchen.  In Sardinia. So when Fabio, the electrician, spoke a few words in English, he gained my rapt attention. 'You speak English,' I said. He replied, 'Yes, a little bit.' To me, a little bit is a whole lot.  Fabio and I became engaged. In conversational English. 'You speak good English,' I said.  Really good. Without an Italian accent. Fabio complained. That he had little opportunity to practice. Though he said that his wife speaks even better English. I tell Italians that I'm a lazy Americano.  Because I learn Italian very slowly. Partly because my dear Italian amore mio speaks  English. With a beautiful and sensuous accent.  Anyway, Fabio made my day. Because he's braver than I. He speaks English. More and better than I speak Italian. Made me feel a bit ashamed. Deservedly so.  Sometimes, I suspect that my amore mio thinks it's just as well that I don't speak much Italian. Because I rarely shut up. Except when it comes to speaking Italian. I have such a limited vocabulary. If I spoke fluent Italian, I'd say too much. About personal stuff. Because that's my way. I do that to draw out people. Even strangers. I'm curious. And want to know significant and personal stuff about virtually everyone. I told Fabio about my amore mio, and how we met and fell in love.  She would just as soon that I not disclose the personal to virtual strangers. But hey, Fabio is no longer a stranger. Because he's an English-speaking Italian.  More than just a little bit. --Jim Broede