>I am two days in Italy now, my inner clock is almost completely Euro-calibrated, and I have already eaten more amazing food than any one white girl deserves! I am staying with friends in northern Italy, in a small city called Reggio Emilia, the early childhood education capital of the world (www.reggiochildren.it). Yesterday, my friend Heather escorted me and her son to his school here, and I spent about an hour taking photos and gathering information. Afterward, we returned to the apartment, and her friend Fabio loaned me his rickety bicycle so that we could bike over the administrative offices of Reggio Children across town. Yes, I rode a bike. I told Heather, begged her, actually, that she was welcome to leave me far behind if I embarrassed her or toppled over. Neither happened. We zipped and zoomed down streets, through underground tunnels (with sharp turns might I add) and made it to and fro with no incidents.

The visit to the admin offices was fruitful — I talked with their staff, browsed their library/bookstore and bought a few books to take home and share with my friends and coworkers. (Right now, I am trying to concentrate while a 5-year-old zurbits my neck from behind, so pardon any lapses in grammar or good sense!)

Last night, we jumped into the rental car and drove up into the mountains nearby. We saw a ginormous castle (we tried to arrive there, but we could not find the correct road). We visited the winery from which my friend has recently purchased a container of wine to import into the United States, and we accidentally found a roadside restaurant at which I consumed some of the most delectable food of my young life.

In the car on the way over, the little boy was explaining to me that he did NOT enjoy eating at the roadside Auto Grills that you encounter on road trips here in Italy simply because they use hydrogenated oils, and food cooked with those is not healthy for his body. Yes, he said “hydrogenated oils”. I think about students that I have who come to kindergarten having no idea that they even have something called a “nose” on their face, and I see that proper, interactive and high-expectation parenting makes not just a world, but a galaxy/universe of difference in the intellect and oral language ability of a child. I want to record him speaking (which he now does in both English and Italian) and share it with my students’ parents.

Sometimes, I think we have a preconceived notion of a ceiling of intelligence for children, and we, not they, limit them. When we are able to look at them as infants or toddlers and see the person we hope for them to become, then we can be of some service to them. Use the better word, the more academic word. Not to create an elitist, but to set a standard. To encourage curiousity, to inspire them to inspire someone else. In doing that for them, we serve them well. We parent them. We tutor them. We mentor them. We cultivate them. We hope.

It is SO hot here that we have only left the house for a few hours today to go get lunch, a gelato and then my friend Heather coerced me into going to the neighborhood cafe to meet an Italian man she thought might interest me. He did not. I, as is common with me, did not give him much of a chance, but he also did not offer to engage in conversation with me, even though he had seen that I can understand at least 85% of the Italian that is spoken to me. Oh well. Then Heather and I spent a fabulous time chatting in Italian, English and Spanish with her friends Fabio and Daniele, the sons of the people who own the little Cafe Borsa. It was fun. We explained some nuances and vulgarities within the English language and warded off some great faux pas. We learned of some pre-wedding practical joke traditions that they carry out (should we call them practical jokes instead?) with their friends. They are going to a wedding tomorrow, and one of the tricks that they are going to do is that they have changed 170 Euro into only coinage, and they will tape the coins all in a row between two layers of Scotch tape, and then they will wind it around a tube and give to the couple. Then the couple must spend who knows how long un-fixing the coins in order to get the money to spend. I said that that sounded like a marvelous way to start a savings account for the first child. And when the child reaches preschool age, he/she can set about unsticking the money as an ongoing project. What do you think?

I must go now — to sweat in peace. And to listen to the odd assemblage of people who are setting up microphones and a PA to sing to pre-recorded music on the town square just over our balcony. Ahhhh. Viva Italia.