Appalled

It's hard to believe it's been a year since I was teaching English in Italy, but, sadly, it's true. Sometimes it feels like I was there just yesterday, but other times I get frustrated trying to remember little details that were once so freshly imprinted in my mind. When I pause I can dredge up numerous flavors of gelato (malaga, stracciatella, nocciola, pistacchio...), the name of the island I could see from my camp director's roof terrace (Ischia), the sharp smell of the giant lumpy lemons from the Amalfi coast (all the better to make limoncello my dear). These details can still be recalled, but how many are lost to the cobwebby corners of my brain more permanently?

I received an email recently that caused one week in particular to come rushing back to me in vivid detail. After a month in Italy, I was thrilled to finally be staying with my first host family. Previously I had stayed at a hotel in San Remo, a campground in Sicily and with my camp director (aka my boss) in Campania. Now I would be going to a small town in the Veneto region to live as part of an Italian family. 

I was greeted at the train station by my host mom and 3 host siblings waving homemade signs, name tags and flags. Through the course of the week, my family accepted me as one of their own. Their young son bunked down with Mom and Dad so that I could have his room. I felt terrible putting them out, but they insisted. They inquired about my food likes and dislikes, made me coffee every morning though they didn't drink it themselves, and taught me how to make tiramisu. Every evening when camp was through, they planned activities with me, a trip to see Marostica's life-size  chess board, dinner with friends, karaoke with our camp director. When I expressed an interest in seeing Venice, they made it happen. They created a treasure hunt for me, complete with questions (in English!) hidden throughout the house, and presents at the end. They even insisted on driving me to my next camp 2 hours away, rather than sticking me on a train at the end of the week. It was a pleasure staying with them, and all my coworkers were jealous of my terrific good fortune.

This week, the camp is running again, and my host family welcomed a new tutor into their home. Only this time, the new tutor was too blind to see how lucky he was in his family placement. He only saw the cramped quarters and 3 noisy (but likable) kids. The day after he arrived, he asked to be placed in a hotel. Apparently he is too tall to be comfortable in the son's room. He visits the family only at meal times because otherwise he would have to buy his own food. I know this because my host mom emailed me, me distraught at the situation, telling me how much I was missed. It kills me to think of them being treated so rudely, and I shudder to think that this new tutor is American. That fact was not verified in the email exchange, and I think I'd rather not know.

So, I'm going to let the situation speak for itself. I know that if I were to begin truly ranting about how angry and embarrassed this makes me, you would probably not bother devoting another twenty minutes to reading this post. I just hope I am never so shortsighted that I miss out on once in a lifetime experience like that for such superficial reasons.