Chapter 12 – My free life story

In the summer of 1994 when I finished school I was 14 years old healthy funny and tough and my ma somehow decided that it´s maybe time for me to go and live in my grandparents home(not the Dutch one but the Italian which came as a surprise to me cause I never expected that and after my brother´s death she was somehow very protective and holding me like am her only bird afraid to let me go so that maybe I spread my wings and fly out to the wide horizon free never to return, anyway here I am flying to Milano and seeing my grandparents to live with them for one year or so.

My grandma is typical Italian woman, warm sweet tough rough and an excellent cook and she used always to call me Deangelo, according to her I was cute sweet and nice like an angel plus she hated my Arabic name cause it reminded her of my father and the deeds that he did to ma, my grandpa on the other hand is a sweet gentle old man and I could swear that I never saw him angry in my whole life and was always wondering when the time will come that this guy would snap and explode in a volcano of rage and fury anger but that day never came.

My grandparents had a huge chateau in Milano’s suburbs, which was really gigantic in my eyes specially when you are used to live in normal villa´s like what we have here in Sweden or in the Netherlands, I use always when I come to a new place the next day I go out alone to explore the surroundings and to get used to the people and the way they live their life and to know my area that am living in.

The next morning I woke up to the sweet smell and aroma´s that was flying in the air of the whole house and I like a hypnotized zombie walked to the kitchen to see my nonna standing there actively and happily preparing the biggest and the most generous breakfast the I ever seen full with Italian pastries and I could only recognize the cannoli´s and I swear to you people until this day just the thought of it makes my mouth water just like that day when I saw it at that time and I knew directly and immediately that this woman can cook as hell, so I asked her with my broken Italian.(my ma used often to speak with me Italian and when we visited my grandparents she pushed me to speak Italian and saying to me always ´´Hassan a new language is like a new nationality remember that´´)

buongiorno nonna che stai facendo ci aspettiamo azienda ?(good morning grandma are we expecting company?) Oh, andiamo DeAngelo suo tutto per voi e solo per voi in modo donot invitare il vostro nonno diabetico che si sta mangiando con te.

(oh come on Deangelo its all for you and only you so don´t expect your diabetic grandpa is eating with you)and she gave me a smile with wink, I liked her, no I loved her really she was so funny and spontaneous and if somebody taught me the passion for cooking that would definitely be my nonno(grandma).

And then she went outside to work in the huge garden she had outside, after a minute my grandpa entered the kitchen like a kid looking after the hidden cookie jar and asked me in low whispery voice(is she gone?)I told him yes she went outside to do something in the garden. He grabbed a chair and sat next to me and began to eat those delicious cannoli´s, by the time I finished my second he was working on his 6^th one and munching it down, I looked at him and told him. You know she would kill you if she knew about what you doing right now, he said half laughing half eating at the same time, ah well she does know but women always love the feeling that they have control over us son remember that.

I finished my breakfast and went outside walking down the streets looking for kids in my age to make friends with and then I met two boys about my age playing football a couple streets further from my grandparent’s home, I stood there watching them silently not daring to start a conversation with my poor Italian and they noticed me and stopped playing and came to me with broad smiles and they were the ones who started the conversation with me.

da dove vieni? Sono olandese, oh voi olandese eh, allora si deve sapere come calciare un pallone si è, sì lo faccio, così si accendono poi farci giocare insieme amico, qual è il tuo nome amico, il mio nome è DeAngelo, va bene allora il mio nome è Vincenzo e il suo nome è Elmo

Where are you from? am Dutch ,oh you Dutch huh, then you must know how to kick a ball are you ,yes i do ,well come on then let us play together friend and what is your name buddy, my name is Deangelo, alright then my name is Vincenzo and his name is Elmo.

And there it goes I kicked off in a good start and made friends from day one and they were a lot of fun those two boys, but then one day we were all out in the arcade hall playing some games we got harassed by bigger and older boys and I again with my tough and loud mouth told the guys to step outside to solve this problem and the minute we were outside I felt punch on the back of my head that knocked me down on my knees, I tried to stand up again and regain balance but they beat me to it with a series of punches and kicks that gave me the feeling that I was going to die here without anyone going to interfere or stopping this madness, they were a group of 6 guys at the age of 18 or 19,I don’t know how I weathered the storm that I felt it did last for ages , after it they ran away laughing leaving me bloodied and withered with broken soul, and my friends they were gone too, I went home, avoiding my grandparents to see me or to notice my torn clothes and slept trying to figure out how I could take my revenge on these bitches with no friends to back me up and in whole foreign country to me where I am the foreigner here and not them.