One day on my first visit to Italy (the now
famous one-time-only trip led by Tomie
dePaola that included a stop at the Bologna
Book Fair), our gruppo had gathered in a
small piazza in Spoleto to rest and enjoy
some gelato.
I began watching two old Italian men talking
to each other. The first ended his comments
to the other with a poke in the chest asking,
"Capisce?"
The other replied then poked his comrade
in turn, repeating,"Capisce?"
In a flash it dawned on me...... capisce must be
an ITALIAN word, not Yiddish as I had always
believed.
Now wait.... I came by this life long delusion
honestly. My Grandparents' generation
spoke Yiddish to each other (especially when
children present were not supposed to
understand). I had the sounds of all the
kinahoras, shana maidelas, zhi gazindts,
zhi gezundts and mishagases planted
firmly in my head.
It turns out that when my Mother was a girl
and her parents ran a corner grocery in their
immigrant neighborhood, my Grandmother
freely added words she fancied from other
people's languages to her vocabulary
without attribution.
Thus, in my late 30's, 3500 miles from home
and anyone familiar with this back story, my
dear grandparents long gone, I had one of the
biggest heartfelt epiphanies and knee
weakening laughs of my life.
Later, I asked Mom why she never told me
about capisce being Italian. She replied,
"You never asked!"
