Getting out of school, I had nothing more beautiful than my dreams of an Italian summer. My plan was to live by proper priorities - friends, family, festas and..... sleep, lots of it. Isn’t the idea to have the perfect combination of nights well lived, mornings well rested and fun well had? These were my expectations along with the beauty of the boredom only summer holds.
Yet by now I should have known better. My friends and my family here have synced so well with me because we’re both suckers for out of the ordinary. Instead of bumming around for the rest of my year // beginning of my summer, I was on my feet from early AM until late PM loving every minute of it. They convinced me to sell my soul to Fede’s summer camp. One week of hardcore preparations followed by two weeks of what seemed like millions of monsters swarming the church fields and gym would create a version of myself completely invulnerable, numb even, to tiredness. This walking zombie, yours truly, couldn’t have had more fun.
My kids were amazing, real gems. One of the campers on my team was a blonde, blue-eyed boy bursting with enough energy to wear out the muscles bigger than those of my football friends. He was both a challenging and challenged kid with anything but an easy history. Sava, one of the three Russian foster kids at the camp living in Italy for the summer had me head over heels in love immediately. He was a catastrophe greater than any of us could handle on our own since most feared his strength and dreaded his restlessness.
Sava spoke an amateur’s Italian language but an expert’s dirty Russian. He felt so empowered swearing at us without our comprehension buuuut... I threw off his game. My trick was something everyone should have: a ridiculous Russian bro living one town over willing to teach you all the best curses in the book (somehow the first words foreigners pick up in any language). I came back the next day confident that two can play this game - mixing his, mine and our second languages to show him I was just as witty and out of place as he was. Hey, he shut up quicker than ever.
In those two weeks, Sava cooled down and opened up in a way that had him sprinkling parts of his heart for each of us to pick up. Our translations became a big game of charades (nothing I wasn’t used to). He was so smart and aware that his curiosity shone through once his fear of a new place vanished. I watched as a lesson needed for all was taught to his peers - with a little patience, effort and honesty anyone can be greater than you expected by giving second chances. And so was the transformation from the boy who smacked and called me not blog-appropriate names to a sweetheart giving kisses and greeting me with "Ciao bella!" I don't think anyone could be more proud of him.
Their behavior (as out of control as it could become) was impressive. I watched as my priest silenced a room of 60+ kids in a matter of minutes by raising his hand. Wild, ridiculous, beautiful and restless, I loved each and every one of them. I mean, explaining my funny accent and nationality made me a superstar with little punishment power but... whatever. I loved loving and being loved in an environment that kept me on my toes. Serene, serious or surprising at any moment, their ability to adapt to any scene or discussion never failed to amaze me. They put faith in the next generation, phew.
During one of our activity stations, we spent our wicked-hot morning cooling down in the basement discussing fears. There were the normal responses of darkness, nightmares, roller coasters and cranky teenage sisters but they also expressed their curiosity and concerns for loss of loved ones, failure and even death. One of my crazier boys, finally relaxed with his head in my lap, twisted to face me and asked what scares me. The one that struck me the most was one I would face any day now. I told him I was scared of going back home, leaving the Italian life I made.
“Yeah,” I explained, “it is home. But think about how much taller you got and what much you learned in school and the love for soccer you discovered this year. I bet you’re going to go visit your relatives next summer down south and they are going to say, ‘Wow! Look, you grew up so much!’ That’s how it’ll be for me. Except EVERYTHING will be different, and so will I.”
My counselors smiled as I expressed the emotion they have seen bubbling inside me for days. I couldn't help but smile back once the kids spoke up, "That’s ok, Natty. They probably love you there like we love you here, right? And your blood is still American but your heart is now Italian.”
There were water games and lunch lines, hula-hoops and soccer, dancing and shouting matches, problem solving and team challenges. Goodness gracious, it was a mad house of pure fun for all of us, campers and counselors. I was on my feet (or tackled to the ground) from the morning until the blessed hour of 5pm. I would stumble home after clean-up, collapse on a kitchen chair to find Fede licking his gelato. “Hey, wanna go play basketball outside? I’m bored.” I never did anything but roll my eyes at him. I'm sorry but didn't we have the same day? How could someone half my size have twice my energy?!
After a cold shower and the usual family dinner, I’d grab my keys and head out each night with the other counselors for whatever mischief held our interest for the evening. So my days ran from about 730AM to 130AM on my feet and in good company. My coffee shop friend supported and provided all the way, Carla barely recognized me anymore and all Americans were left to wonder where I had disappeared to. It was fun / stressful / messy / confusing / challenging / rewarding. But where did it all go? It consumed three weeks that seemed to just disappear. The inevitable (July 8th) was coming and I knew it. Camp kept my body tired and my mind busy. So no, I did not get those sweet dreams of an Italian summer because I was never even sleepy enough to dream. But I know in my American blood and Italian heart that I wouldn't have rather it any other way.
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