College Admission Essay
Uploaded by trillianmcmillan on Jul 30, 2002
Having your name constantly listed among the heroes Batman and Robin Hood may be a fantasy for many, but to me it is just one of those every day, ordinary things that happens in life. I’m not a skinny guy in green tights (I’m not a guy at all, in fact), and I don’t even have the honor of being an often-overlooked sidekick to a rich and powerful superhero. No, I’m just your ordinary American girl who happens to live in a country where it’s a curse not to be able to roll the letter “r,” especially when your name starts with that letter.
“Excuse me, but what is your name?” is normally the first thing they ask, in their thick Italian accents. That’s when the trouble starts. That’s when I wish I really did know Batman, so he could sweep me off my feet and take me somewhere else, so I didn’t have to go through this again. After the Italian’s opening question, the conversation normally goes something like this:
“Robin.”
“Eh?!”
“My name is Robin.”
“Your name is Wobin?”
“No, mi chiamo Robin.”
“Ti chiami Wobin?”
At this point, I give a tiny, exasperated sigh, and the Italian (normally a guy) will throw a confused glance at his friend standing next to him. His friend will then remove his Oakley sunglasses (even if it’s winter), scratch his head, take a drag of his cigarette, and give a shrug. Then, just like in the cartoons when the coyote has a brilliant idea about how to catch the roadrunner, a light bulb will pop up above one of their head’s, and he’ll say, “Ah! Robin! Like Batman and Robin!” A smug little smile will then cross his friend’s face, and one will say to the other (in Italian), “Hey, I wonder where the Merry Men are!” Now it’s my turn to look smug. They think I’m a tourist. Little do they know that I’m an ex-pat who’s been living here for almost three years, and can understand Italian better than the average American walking through the gray Milan haze. I always do love the surprised look on their faces when I reply in Italian. Then they ask why I speak Italian, and the above conversation is completely forgotten.
If that had been the only thing I had needed to adapt to when I moved here, I would have been happy as a lark. However, that wasn’t exactly the case....