Mark Boles took time this past Christmas to visit relatives in Italy. What he found there was more than family—he discovered a reintroduction to the feeling of “with.”
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Toward the end of 2013, I stumbled upon a TED Talk. It featured a former college classmate and lacrosse teammate, Andy Nagy-Benson. I knew him as Andy Benson. He was a long stick (defender), fast as hell, quick hands, could slide better than anyone in our division. He went to Loomis Chafee, a prestigious boarding school outside of Hartford.
Back then I would call us decent guys, but hardly Godly. Often assholes.
Now Andy and I are connected on Facebook, so I know his whereabouts. We’d all grown up, married, had kids, some divorced. We used to see each other at weddings and now we’ve moved on to funerals. It’s an inevitable life stage thing.
Andy had gone on to be the pastor at Middlebury College—ironically enough, one of our big rivals in college. I’m not sure when Andy “found God” or if he ever lost him.
I do know that at the time I stumbled upon Andy’s TED Talk I had lost my way. I had lost my father, was struggling with my career direction, staring down the barrel of a divorce and aching over lost time with the two most important creatures in my life, my daughters.
Through a considerable amount of therapy, self discovery and so forth, I realized that I was not necessarily the person I had grown up thinking I was. Throughout my marriage, through my own fault, I had allowed my own family (however fucked up or unorthodox it was) to be incredibly marginalized. I felt very alone.
And along comes Andy and his stupid TED Talk.
Andy talked about the word “with.”
I had forgotten what the word “with” felt like. For a whole host of complicated reasons, I abandoned it with my wife. Perhaps one day we’ll have a version of it again, but it dawned on me that I needed to find what that felt like again.
I found it in Italy.
My parents were divorced when I was transitioning from infant to toddler. I would live with my Dad initially; then, at about four and half years old, I would go to live with my Mom.
When I was 11, my Mom would remarry and so the unorthodox family would begin. He was Italian-American, us, black. He had two kids. A daughter a couple of years older than me and a son several years older than me. Although my step-sister and I hated each other at first, that was really more a statement of circumstance.
Eventually I would learn what “with” meant with my step-sister. She became my protector as I neared the end of high school and she headed off to college. She was the coolest person I knew—and by osmosis, made me slightly cool.
Hey, I could make a bong out of a toilet paper roll. I never smoked pot, but with those who were in a pinch, I was f*cking MacGyver.
My sister taught me that.
In addition to my sister, I adopted an aunt and an uncle and two cousins.
They lived in Florence, Italy. They would visit us every summer. Jonathan is my age, but the fascination of the good old U.S. of A and my BMX bikes led him to follow me around like an annoying puppy. Francesca was his younger sister and three years younger than me. We were smitten from day one.
Francesca would become one of my most valuable friends ever.
All of which I almost forgot. As close as I was to this family of mine, I had never been to visit them in Italy. This is dumb and selfish on many levels, but for some reason my Mom decided to send me to Italy on Christmas Day 2013.
Despite some slight travel misadventures, I flew to Pisa via Heathrow and was picked up by Francesca at the airport.
With.
The love and affection from my entire Italian family was immediate and palpable.
With.
They wanted to know everything. The good. The bad. The sad. The hurt. The future. What did I want to do on my visit? The answer was simple: Spend as much time with each and every one of them as possible. It was a house I’d never once set foot in, but felt that I belonged.
With.
I met Jonathan’s wife and daughters for the first time.
That’s 13 and 7 years, respectively.
Emma, 13, loved Timberland boots. I played her Tribe Called Quest/Beastie Boys so she could hear the line of “Timbos on your toes.” Acceptance.
Elisa told me about how she loved Peppa Pig, so I laughed and snorted as loud as I could.
With.
I met Francesca’s horse, Faberge. Her love after losing her true love, Mossimo, to a heart attack way too early in life.
With.
A day with Jonathan and Sandro in the Chianti wine region. Decadence and indulgence and spectacular company.
With.
Would I like to go to a museum or watch Emma and Francesca ride and then have the traditional Sunday family dinner? The latter please.
With.
With.
The entire time I was infected with love. I felt it. I was moved by it. I remembered what mattered.
With.
Thanks, Andy Nagy-Benson.