The Lucky Life of an American Abroad -Rome

When I was a senior in high school my father was posted in a communist country, so I went away to a boarding school in Rome.  It was an international school, so the students were from such places as Israel, Libya, England, The United States, Norway, Sweden, The Netherlands, Botswana and of course Italy.  The school was a day school but had about 50 boarders, I was one.  The teachers were also from all over the world, and the "house parents" that lived at the school were exceedingly cool and fun even if they were authority figures.

When I arrived I was terrified and self conscious, only to be magnified by the fact that Al Italia had lost my luggage so I wore the same clothes for a week.  But, no matter, I was embraced nevertheless, which was amazing to me!  I can remember this wonderful fellow classmate, an American whose parents worked in Saudi Arabia, she took me all over Rome on a "tour."  That was the amazing thing about that school, the students were stoked about living in Italy, and were so into the art, history and cultural aspects of being there, so we all together took advantage of everything Rome and the surrounding areas had to offer together.  It was socially cool to want to see and do things Italian.

Some of the teachers were  Americans who had been in Rome a while and had found their new homeland so to speak.  One history professor who maybe came from the midwest (?) taught Islamic History.  He showed us slides (dating myself) of his trekking through Iran.  We saw detailed pictures of mosaics and intricate tiles, mosques and smiling people, which all made for a "I want to go there!" mentality.  My Italian teacher wasn't quite 5', adorable to my 5'11''.  I was and still am an atrocious linguist, barely passing Italian and going on to college I must admit.  She'd gaze up at me after class and say "you hava' to worka harder!"  No kidding.  

I remember one day a group of us took a picnic to the Villa Borghese  park in the center of the city, then went to walk around the Coloseum just for kicks.  We'd take the tram to the coast, or to Assisi where St. Francis lived and preached.  As the year went by we continued to make memories; group dinners at trattoria's, playing basketball against The Geneva Giants (they won), coffee at piazzas, parties at our Roman friends homes, running early in the morning around the Circo Maximo, studying late into the night for finals. We had no idea really of how privileged we were.  In the years to follow I came to appreciate more and more I realized how unique and wonderful my experiences had been, how lucky I was.

As the time neared for graduation I remember thinking I wanted to prolong my life in Rome, I didn't want to return to the U.S. after having lived overseas for the past 6 years. I'd actually only lived there for 3 years of my life. I was an American but I wasn't up on what that meant.  The years after were tough.  College was a come down after my high school years overseas.  The flip side of the romance of being an American abroad, is when you return home other American's aren't so interested in hearing about your experiences, they can't relate, and I understand why, it's just too foreign.

I guess as I watch my own child prepare to leave home in all ways, becoming an adult, I wonder what will her memories be of this time in her life? Will she ever experience being an outsider in another country and be able to celebrate that experience with other peers as I was so fortunate to do many years ago?  I certainly hope so.