I was about 7 or 8 years old when someone (I can’t remember who) told me an amazing fact… about how people in Italy, if they were upset with another person, would tell off that person or express disdain or dissatisfaction using a simple hand-arm gesture. I think it took several, repeated, step-by-step demonstrations, but I was fascinated and intrigued. A strange foreign people in a strange foreign land, making strange foreign hand signals… I was giddy and excited! I thought I had learned some kind of elite, secret code or magical language… naturally, I HAD to try it out…
Later, I was playing alone in our open, empty carless garage, when I spotted Paul Ghiacketti, a neighbor kid, walking towards our end of the street. He was 5 or 6 years older – which is a giant lifetime and huge generation gap to a kid… and I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to try out this secret, mysterious language.
I straightened my arm… cocked and loaded it like a giant catapult… and like a sniper assassin, waited for the perfect moment when he would appear directly in front of the driveway.
“Hey, P-a-a-a-a-u-u-u-l-l-l!!”
He turned, I clinched my right fist, carefully reached over with my left hand and grabbed the inside area of my right arm’s elbow, and just like I had learned, released the catapult and swung my fist toward me with the conviction and flair of a true Italian.
He stopped. We both stared at each other for a few seconds… long enough to make me wonder if I had done it correctly. Or maybe it was indeed so secret he had no idea what I was trying…
Suddenly, without saying a word, he came bolting at me at breakneck speed like a crazed banshee, tackled me to the ground, pinned me on my back, and began whipping the tar out of me.
In between the flurry of punches, (and over my tears) he explained the true definition of this Italian gesture and how I should never do it ever again.
I never did it again.
