On Being Italian

Every once in a while, we lighten things up around here. Since virtually all of my weekly articles are drop-dead serious, a little humor now and then is warranted. And today is that day. (Next Thursday we’ll get back to the regular routine.)

I’m full-blooded Italian and am grateful for my heritage. We’re known for good taste, strong opinions, the best food on the planet, and the impressive ability to talk with our hands.

For us, a casual conversation may involve hand gestures dramatic enough to require a warm-up. And when we get excited, we’re prone to yell. (For the ultra reserved, it’s not yelling, it’s passion!)

Here’s an old Italian joke that I like. My fellow Pizons will appreciate it. 🙂

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An old Italian man lived alone in upstate New York. He wanted to plant his annual tomato garden, but it was very difficult work, as the ground was hard. His only son, Vincent, who used to help him, was in prison. The old man wrote a letter to his son and described his predicament:

Dear Vinnie,

I’m pretty upset. It looks like I won’t be able to plant my tomato garden this year. I’m just getting too old to be digging up a garden plot. The ground is just too hard. I know if you were here you would dig it for me. Oh well. Maybe in the future.

Love,

Papa

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A few days later he received a letter from his son.

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Dear Pop,

Don’t dig up that garden. That’s where the bodies are buried.

Love,

Vinnie

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At 4 am the next morning, FBI agents and local police arrived and dug up the entire area without finding any bodies. They apologized to the old man and left. That same day the old man received another letter from his son.

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Dear Pop,

You should be able to plant the tomatoes now. That’s the best I could do under the circumstances.

Love,

Vinnie