As the plane took off from O’Hare Airport, I closed my eyes and was transported back in time. The year was 1961, and it was the first time I traveled to Italy with my Nonna, to accompany her on her return to Bari, Italy. I felt the same excitement now that I did back then. I was returning to the homeland my parents had left to start a new life in America, filled with hope, fear and great expectations. My senses filled with the aroma of espresso, the sound of animated Italian voices and laughter, and the sight of their lively mannerisms.

As we landed, it seemed ironic to me that my children are now starting their new lives just as my parents did, but in Italy, not in America. My third son, James, was recently married in February 2010 and moved to Bari, Italy. He will be living with my 88-year-old aunt and her family, learning Italian while preparing to pursue an MBA at Bocconi Institute in Milan. I was excited to have the opportunity, along with my wife, to see our children and my aunt, and visit with numerous cousins for a few days. My heart filled with joy at the prospect of seeing the past generation connecting with

 the future generation, allowing the privilege of having time-honored family stories transferred from one to the other. These stories are the fibers that connect our spirits to our heritage, keeping alive our traditions, customs and, most importantly, our sense of what it means to be Italian.

This trip allowed us to re-energize our bodies and minds, and return to what life is all about: being with people, talking, touching, hugging and laughing. It was a time to connect with people who really enjoy life.

The return to my father’s hometown, Mola di Bari, filled my mind with my father’s words and his countless fables, proverbs and sayings, describing and predicting life as Italians so like to do. The sight of old men playing cards at outdoor tables, gesturing with their hands and yelling about how they are right and the others are all wrong, brought a smile to my face. A warm, secure feeling overwhelmed me, knowing that my son would be sharing in these same feelings and memories.

Waiting in line in the city hall brought me back to the present chaos, with everybody pushing forward, getting out of line and shouting to be heard so that they could make the case that their problem was far worse and more urgent than anyone else’s. My frustration reached its peak as I neared the desk, but fortunately I was able to corral the clerk, who dispensed the marriage certificate I needed to complete my wife’s application for Italian citizenship. As I turned to leave, I felt a sense of accomplishment, for I had triumphed over the Italian system. My parents left this all behind for an orderly and sometimes sterile new world. This incident allowed me to appreciate America, but also allowed me to experience the push-and-shove fun that my ancestors knew as a way of life. I also learned that it helps to be tall.

Next, we were able to spend some time touring the Pugliese countryside. The pride that the people have in their history and culture shines through in the joyous tones with which they speak to tourists. The history and legends that surround these artifacts are incredible, and are the basis of our current medical, social and political systems. It is unbelievable to consider that the foundations they laid, centuries ago, still stand. They are a tribute to our ancestors, and it was with immense pride that I stood before them and imagined their origins.

The aqueducts that our ancestors developed to collect and disburse water throughout the region were truly ingenious and innovative. The awareness and attentiveness to details with which they planted and harvested fruits and vegetables is truly remarkable. There are groves of olive trees that still bear fruit after 1,000 years. It is astounding to think that our ancestors were able to design these systems so many years ago, and that they are still being used to this day.

We then ventured north to Rome. My wife, son, daughter-in law and I spent the next two days visiting the Coliseum, Pantheon, Vatican, Piazza Navona, and Roman Forum. Knowing that I am a descendent of these ancient people fills my heart with pride and encourages me to continue learning about their exploits and achievements and sharing that knowledge with others. I also feel duty bound to advance my heritage through my efforts to improve my environment, both medically and socially.

On a plane again, this time returning from Rome to our home in America, I looked out the cabin window. Looking down at the luxurious green fields, the intricate crisscrossing of the roads, the bustling of the many cars and people, and the vivid color of the deep Tyrrhenian Sea, a warm smile appeared on my face. My wife noticed and asked me why I was smiling. My smile grew wider and I responded that my parents’ sacrifices were well worth it, and they would be proud to know that their grandchildren were returning to their roots. 

Dr. John Bello recently traveled to Italy to begin the process of bringing cutting edge medical techniques to Chicago.  His remarkable medical sojourn will be detailed in future Franoi and newsletter issues.

Read Dr. Bello's second newsletter in this series: Medicine, Italian-Style

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