It's Who You Know, Ya Know

We enjoy learning the rules of the culture; one that we have definitely come to understand is the “It’s Who You Know” philosophy. Here, it matters, a lot. Who sent you? Whose name can you drop? Who, exactly, can vouch for your worthiness? I’ve also learned that there seems to be absolutely no shame attached to this philosophy, no guilt. It’s just the way it is. Relationships.

We have casually started seeking out elementary schools for Maddy. The public school system here is different in several ways, one of which is that families have a few choices. Madelyn still has an additional year in the asilo (while her same-aged American peers enter kindergarten), so we have a bit of time. There are also a few private school options.

One way to gather information about the elementary schools is to ask the other moms from the asilo. This week I was able to corner one whose son transitions in the fall – certainly she would have advice. Surprisingly, he is going to his local public elementary school in the hills near their home, uhh, their estate. I say "surprisingly" because I have been to said estate on a couple of occasions – the wealth oozes from the beautifully restored centuries old farm house out onto the nicely manicured lawn, down to the horses – till it makes its way to an incredible view where it just spills out over acres upon acres of rolling hills. Magical. (Very down-to-earth lady, nonetheless.) I had incorrectly assumed that she would enroll her son in one of the local private schools. Ironically, she shared with me that she is pleased to have recently learned that there are several American children currently attending the little school in Arcugnano. (I didn't tell her, but I'm pretty sure those are children of my colleague.) Fluent in English, she wants the same for little Tarchi and hopes contact with native speakers will promote that. She, I might add, is no ordinary Italian mother – I say this because she has a clothes dryer, and she uses it everyday for all laundry, except those things which must be brought to the cleaners. This makes her rather unordinary, almost extraordinary.

So, in our brief discussion I mentioned a couple of schools, one of which is a private Catholic school in the city center. Holy Cow! Bingo! Her eyes lit up, as she immediately gave me the A-Okay hand signal. She attended the school. She knows the nuns! She even spouted off their names as a look of reminiscence filled her eyes. She would be delighted to take us there for a “proper introduction” – her words, not mine. She even spoke to me in English, which they rarely want to do, to ensure that I understood. My attempt to tell her that we have an “in” already, as we have a friend whose sister is a teacher on the faculty, proved to be futile. She would hear none of it. I got the feeling that an introduction by her would trump knowing a teacher’s sister.

Will we take her up on her offer?

Absolutely, unequivocally, yes, yes, yes.

To refuse that offer would be unthinkable. We have no idea whether Maddy will attend that school; it’s just one that we happen to know about. What we do know for sure is that we need options. Her connection gives us an option. We don't believe that these connections are always important in the education system. I've no doubt that enrolling her in the little school in Lumignano would not require a connection.

Why, you might ask, has she (an acquaintance at best) deemed us worthy of her recommendation? (No, it’s not my stellar Italian language skills or designer duds.)

Well, did you know that the fabric softener Bounce, those fabric sheets for the dryer, are not available on the Italian economy? She likes Bounce, a lot.

Don’t judge – this is my baby girl’s education we are dealing with here.