AS I ENTERED JUNIOR HIGH, Papa and Mama, whom I had loved without question, suddenly became an embarrassment. Why couldn't they be like other parents? Why didn't they speak without accents? Why couldn't I take peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches in my school lunches, rather than calamari? (Yuck, the other kids said, he eats squid legs!)?There seemed no escape from the painful stigma I felt in being Italian, the son of Tulio and Rosa."Buscaglia"-- even my name became a source of distress.
One day, as I left school, I found myself surrounded group of boys. “Dirty dago! they shouted." Your moms a garlic licker… Go back where you came from!”
It seemed an eternity before I was released from the circle of pushes, punches, and taunts.I wasn't certain what the epithets meant, but I felt their sting. Humiliated and in tears, I broke free and dashed home. I locked myself in the bathroom,but I couldn't stop the tears. What had happened seemed so wrong, yet I felt helpless to do anything about it.
Papa knocked on the door. "What's the matter?" he asked. “ What is it? ”
I unlatched the door, and he took me in his arms. Then he sat on the edge of the bathtub with me. "Now tell, "he said. When I finished the story, I waited, I guess I expected Papa to immediately set off in search of the bullies or at least find their parents and demand retribution. But Papa didn't move.
“I see,?” he?said?quietly. “They?finally?found?you. Those?cowards?who?don't?know?us?but?hate?us?all?the?same.I?know?they?hurt?you, but?what?they?did?wasn't?meant?just?for?you.It?could?have?been?anyone?who?is?different.”
"I?hate?being?Italian!?"I?confessed?angrily.?"I?wish?I?could?be?anything?else!”
Papa?held?me?firmly?now,?and?his?voice?had?an?edge?of?anger.?“Never?let?me?hear?you?say?that?again!Italians?make?beautiful?music, paint?wonderful?pictures,write?great?books, and?build?beautiful?buildings. How can you not be proud be an Italian? And you’re extra lucky, because you’re an American, too.”
“But?I?don't?want?to?be?different!?"?I?objected.?"I'd?rather?be?like?everyone?else!”
“Well,?you're?not?like?everyone?else.?God?never?intended?us?all?to?be?the?same,?and?would?you?want?to?be?like?the?boys?who?hurt?you?”
“No.”
“Then?wipe?your?tears?and?be?proud?of?who?you?are.?You?can?be?sure?it?won't?be?the?last time you’ll meet such people. Feel sorry for them, but don’t be afraid of them.We’ve got to be strong.”
He?dried?my?tears.?"Now,?he?said,?"lets?get?some?bread?to?be?strong?d?butter?and?go?eat?in the garden.?"
By Leo F.?BUSCAGLIA
