Tanti Auguri Pietro! (Happy Birthday!)

As many of you already know, children and I have a very special relationship. Its that kind of special relationship that I imagine Harry Potter and Dudley Dursley share. Or maybe sour milk and your stomach. I can't really go so far as to say that I hate children. But we don't have a very good history. I'm usually sitting next to them screaming on and airplane, screaming in a restaurant, screaming in the library (this just happened today), or just generally screaming at someone.
No, I'm sorry, I really don't want to pick your nose for you, why don't you just do it yourself.
Well, this is the year to challenge myself.
And the the new task at hand: Teaching a 6-year-old boy how to speak English.
I'm not really sure what prompted me to take the job. I think it had something to do with desperation as I watched my hard-earned money apparate out of my bank account. Whatever, the reason, the day I showed up to meet Pietro, just to see what he was like, I ended up leaving with a appointment time for the next week and no real memory of agreeing to the job.
Since that first meeting, Pietro and I have been slowly working through the intricate details of English grammar. Or in real terms, I talk at him with he throws paper airplanes around the room.
Occasionally, he'll pay attention to me to kick a soccer ball at my head, but mostly we're stuck in the world of miscommunication. He refuses to acknowledge that I'm speaking English while I'm not allowed to speak to him in Italian.
He has managed to pick up a few words. These include: ball, soccer, "I scored!", airplane, yes, and burp.
But whole phrases, when he's asked to repeat them, are just a slurred mess of sounds that he can't remember how to recreate.
Despite our difficulties, I am starting to love being a part of an Italian family. It's just mom, dad, and Pietro. But the dad, Antonello, insists that he wants Pietro to think of me as his big sister. I eat dinner with the family every Monday night, after two hours of tutoring. And each week, I get learn something new about Bolognese culture.
Who the best players on Bologna's soccer team are.
How to fully appreciate dessert wine.
How to play Tre Sette (a card game that I still don't really get)
And of course how to make room for more food even though you're absolutely sure you'll have to grow a fourth stomach to digest everything over the course of the week.
Sunday, I was invited to Pietro's 6th birthday party. Not as a paid tutor, but because Antonello insisted that I needed to be a part of this "cultural experience". And it was quite the experience.
He picked me up in his car at 3:00pm on Sunday. That was the first time I had been in a car since August. We had to go pick up the cake first. He pulled into a pasticceria right down the street called Lagana. He'd been coming there ever since he was old enough to walk home from school. We he walked in, the owner greeted him with kisses, and then gave me some as well (something I'm definitely not used to yet). As we waited, not just for the cake, but all the other boxes of panini's, pizzas, sweets and chocolates, he started pointing out things that I had to try from the display. The cashier pulled out each one he pointed to and handed them to me. I stood in the corner with a handful of hand-painted chocolates and pastries oozing nutella as I waited for all the other food to be ready.
We loaded the car up and drove to the actual party location: an indoor playground called Girotonda Park . Think moonbounces and ball pits. And of course all the kids sliding around in their socks and slamming into the walls of the giant inflatables.
You'll never guess how many kids there were at this party.
Fifty. FIFTY! I don't even think I have fifty friend that would show up to my birthday party. And in terms of friends in Bologna, Pietro is beating me by a landslide! And with all the kids, of course, came the presents. I had to make four trips out to the car at the end of the night to load all his new toys! I really don't think they could ever top that party.
Many of you probably think I cowered in the corner the whole time, but I can honestly tell you I wasn't afraid! Maybe I'm a little awkward. I still don't know how to relate to these miniature, needy, and frequently cranky versions of myself. But, there's something actually endearing about listening to their little voices speak a language that I'm struggling so hard with. It's humbling to have a 6-year-old be so much better than you at something. But, then again, it's not really a level playing field. They're trying to understand life and I just want to understand what their saying.

                                            Pietro's the one with the arrows pointing at him.

The evening didn't end until around 9:00pm with Pietro deliriously pacing in the entrance way sporting his new Cars backpack, Bologna jersey, and a fresh cut on his forehead. I rumpled his hair. He head-butted me. I think we're getting somewhere