Coming to Italia

The first thing they asked me was “who did you vote for?”

I can only assume my host family is talking about the 2016 presidential election. It’s almost comforting to know that the rest of the world has not forgotten or gotten used to our president as quickly as we have in the United States.

As I am being asked about politics in the U.S., Italy’s budget is being denied by the European Union. French president Macron’s face appears on the television screen and they say “he’s not great either.” Relativity is something special.

They ask me what I think about the children being killed at the Mexican border, and they ask me why so many people support it. I venture to guess, “racism?”

I think we eat too much bread here in Noale, but they think we eat too much butter in the U.S. I can’t fathom the amount of money that shoes cost in Italy, but they can’t understand why we would drive to a store that’s only down the street. The mother uses a credit card once or twice each winter to scrape ice off of her windshield, and I show her a picture of a snowbank that my car was engulfed in last spring.

She says if there is space for refugees in Italy, there must be space in the U.S. Ah, so we agree.

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