Reason to fly the (Italian) flag.

I went knocking on a door today. In a quaint neighborhood. In St. Paul, Minnesota. Two Italian flags were hanging from the front porch. Yes, I am curious. About everything Italian. Ever since hooking up nine years ago. With my Italian amore Cristina. She will be with me in a few days. That’s our custom. She comes to me.  In Minnesota. In the summer. And I go to her. In Italy. In the winter. Anyway, back to the place with the two Italian flags. Turns out. That a guy named Pat Devito lives there. A likeable fellow. An American. Of Italian descent. He’s never been to Italy. His grandparents came from Bari, a port city on the Adriatic Sea. My aim. Is to encourage Devito.  To go to Italy. Long before he dies. To walk the same hallowed ground that his grandparents once tread. And to swim in the Adriatic. Meanwhile, I keep flying my own Italian flag. In appreciation of the blessed day that Cristina entered my life. --Jim Broede