There was an unspoken script in a young girl’s life growing up in a cultured family in Brescia, Italy in the 1970s that she would go on to a university to study the humanities. But this young girl had no interest in the arts or classics – she did poorly in Latin and Greek – and she had her sites set for medicine. Her mom grew up in a transitional generation in the early 1960s but observed feminism through a telescope. She knew she wanted something different for her only daughter, but she was still trapped in the tradition that etched out life for an Italian girl.
It began with a word. It was not the meaning of the word but its pronunciation. A few months passed and there were even more words that couldn’t come out right. First, he noticed that they were longer words, and in time, he was having problems with shorter words too. The words would eventually land chaotically in the air. One syllable after another choppy syllable. Any hints of grace or fluency were gone. In time, he started leaving out adjectives and conjunctions.