Viva Roma!
By Teresa K. Flatley

Did you know that Rome, Italy, may be the world capital of motor scooters, mopeds and motorcycles?* Or that Pantheon (the only Ancient Roman landmark which has survived almost intact for more than 2,000 years) means "temple of all the gods?"

Well, neither did I till a short time ago. But now I am a virtual treasure trove of Roman facts and trivia.

Last fall I was asked to research and write a book on living in Rome, a reference book for middle school students working on one of those dreaded term papers.

The catch was that I was not given a contract for this book. I was on my own to submit a detailed outline for the entire book and a first chapter (complete with a slew of footnotes and sidebars). After reading through my submitted samples, the publisher's editor would decide whether I should move on with the project and receive a contract or go away quietly.

The verdict was that I should pack up my Roman facts and go home. The Rome project was a non-starter, at least for me.

I've been told by people who know more than I about this sort of thing that my experience wasn't all that unique. It's just one more way that being a writer is not like being an accountant, a plumber or hotel registrar. You take your chances all the time and often, for naught. I should have known better. Heck, I did know better, but took the bait anyway.

Like so many opportunities we choose to open the door to, I had a hidden agenda for wanting to learn more about the Eternal City and its environs. My mother's parents were born in Italy. They came here to make a new life, my grandfather as a gardener and factory worker, my grandmother as a young woman far from her family.

They spoke Italian, of course, and struggled with English, adapting to what everyone called "broken English," but what exactly was broken, I never have understood.

My parents lived with my grandparents for 13 years after they were married, six of those years after I was born. I only recently learned that my older brother actually spoke better Italian than English when he went to kindergarten at the wee age of four.

And that's when my parents made a cultural shift: Only English would be spoken in the home so my brother, my sister and I would become fluent in our native tongue. After all, we needed to fit into our world as much as our grandparents were trying to.

I grew up understanding what my grandparents were saying, enjoying the way the words rolled off their tongues and picking up a few stray words along the way. Nonna and Nonno, my grandmother and grandfather, reverted back to Italian only when they were talking to each other, were excited or were experiencing a crisis and precise language was paramount. Then the Italian language flowed once again.

I'm sorry now that I never took the time to learn their native tongue. But working on the Rome book took me back home for awhile. Reading about how Italians use their hands to accent their speech (who knew that!) and how open and loving they are to everyone brought back memories of my grandparents and my extended family. But sometimes, I recall, the demonstrative show of emotions so innate to Italians was too much for my brother, sister and me, and warred with the more reserved heritage of my father's family.

So, once again in this game of words I play, nothing has been wasted. I learned about Rome for a book that won't become a reality, but can't find it in me to be angry about what could be considered a colossal waste of time. All roads lead to Rome as they say, only some of them are a little more circuitous than others.

* There are more than 800,000 motor scooters, mopeds and motorcycles in the city, nearly one for every three residents, according to Paul Hofmann in "The Seasons of Rome."