Yesterday evening I had a conversation about the country my father comes from. Although I like many things about Italy, unfortunately there will always be negative memories attached too. We got on to the subject of ice cream and the word for it in Italian, which is ‘gelato.’ Suddenly, I was transported back in time to a familiar scene on a bench outside my father’s childhood home. It was as though I was a ghost revisiting my past. Sat on the bench were two young girls in shorts and t-shirts, slurping chocolate ice cream from a tub. I watched as the younger of the two followed my uncle up to his car and leaned in the passenger window to tell him which ice cream we wanted. During the night, I dreamt that I was at a table by that bench with my mother and the younger girl’s mother. She was speaking in Italian, a language I speak fluently, however I couldn’t make out what she was saying. She called over her daughter and she hadn’t changed at all or grown up, she was that same little girl ...
