My folks have our family plaid framed and hanging in their office; it's the one associated with our Scottish roots.
My sisters and I are named Megan, Caitlin, and Kelly, to honor the Irish "Sweeney" that is my mom's maiden name.
Recently, I had the opportunity to travel to Italy, and I couldn't wait to make connections to the Italian olive oil coursing through my veins.

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For months before we landed at Leonardo da Vinci International Airport, I practiced the Italian I had learned in college.
By the time we arrived, I was very confident about rattling off numbers one to ten (uno a dieci),
asking where the restroom is (Dov'è il bagno?),
and ordering from a menu (Posso avere gli spaghetti alla carbonara, per favore?) --
and I was feeling brave about muddling through any other conversation.

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I wasted no time with our very first cab driver.
Claudio was his name. We jumped right in.
I was reminded instantly that, throughout Italy, many of the people know how to speak enough of the English language that, even when they run into my broken Italian, we can meet somewhere in the middle.
Plus, Claudio spoke volumes with his hilariously animated hands and arms. Together with my vivid facial expressions and electric laugh, we communicated fluently.

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With moments of rear-view-mirror eye contact peppered throughout our chat,
we covered everything from our college kids to the traffic patterns to our favorite recipes for pork chops (Claudio likes to marinate them).
I asked him where he was from originally. Di dove sei?
​He was proud as a peacock that he and his family have always been from Rome, for as many generations as he could imagine. And his own sons live in Rome now.
I explained that we were from Ohio, and he wanted to know where that was in relation to New York City and Hawaii.

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I was pleased to report that our family had Italian roots, though.
In fact, my mental inventory of all my aunts' and uncles' and cousins' vowel-rich surnames was teed up.
I had been waiting for this moment.
In my very best accent, I started to rattle them off:
"Gallo,
Nardini,
An.ten.u.cci..." I was careful to honor every syllable as a native Italian would.

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And then I said, "Benedetti..."
And Claudio almost drove right off the road.
"I am Claudio Benedetti," he said, with his hand over his heart.
Both of us scrambled for the word. I screamed, "Cugino!" And, "Cousin!" burst from his mouth.
And then we laughed and laughed and laughed.

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It sure was fun to meet a full-blooded Roman relative that day.
I know I'm an American mutt. Annnnd I'm tickled to think of all the parts of the world that are sprinkled in my makeup.
Even when I least expect it, famiglia is all around me.

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People are THE BEST.
LoveLoveLove.
​AmoreAmoreAmore.

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