Quest’é Halloween

“Ciao!” I exclaimed, extending the ‘o’ like I hear all the teenagers do here in Viterbo. I was waiting at the bus stop and I had finally worked up the courage to greet the only other person who waits at that stop. He looked at me wide-eyed, murmured “Ciaooo” and, taking out a cigarette, turned the opposite way.

It was Halloween, a friendly holiday which I thought would be the perfect opportunity to get to know the other Italian teenagers who live in my district and go to school on my bus. I was embarrassingly wrong. Italians don’t dress up for Halloween. I do. Everyone at my American school does. As I tried to figure out this fourteen year old’s rudeness, I remembered the face paint and the hair dye: there was an Italian flag painted on my right cheek and an American flag painted on my left cheek, and the right side of my head was dyed green while the left was blue.

Even though I was dressed up half Italian, I had never felt more American. Usually I am introduced as “the American” by my family, but that was not necessary as I walked through the winding cobblestone street with my friend Mallory, who had dressed up as Wanda from Where’s Waldo. Italian strangers interrupted us to practice their English, yelling phrases from store entrances such as “Good night!”, “Bye bye!”, and “How are you?”.

The next morning I celebrated their holiday, All Saint’s Day. I awoke to find that my host parents and grandmother had gone to a nearby church. My host sisters were at home because, as they explained to me, they are perfect and do not need to pray and absolve their sins. They invited me to join my flawed family members, if I wanted. Having just celebrated a Pagan holiday, I decided I had committed too many sins to be absolved, and I stayed home.