Lost and Found in America
- Pasquale Puleo
- Sep 19, 2022
- 2 min read
Updated: Jul 8
When I arrived in the United States in April 1966, I was excited about my new life in America. Everything was different. I felt reborn, a new Pasqualino, a boy more American than Italian.
I looked around with eagerness and felt at ease with my immediate surroundings. However, the American language, a little different from the English language, was an obstacle that did not allow me to be the best I could be.
Acquiring English skills became more manageable when I started attending the Abraham Lincoln School for Immigrants in Boston. I found myself in a class of adults from all over the world. I saw the United States of America as a home where people from all corners of the earth could live together and pursue happiness.
As a teacher, I was fortunate to have a brilliant and always-available American man. He made us understand words not only with our ears but also with our eyes. He took us to the gardens of Boston Commons and showed everything around us not only with simple nouns but also with adjectives or adverbs that pushed us to broaden our wandering gazes. A flower became a yellow flower. A passerby became a tall man strolling.
However, learning American English this way didn't prevent me from being anxiously confused. So, one day, the American teacher from the Abraham Lincoln School sent me to Boston English High School for an interview with a guidance counselor to find out if I could successfully meet the high school's academic expectations.
Once in the guidance counselor's office, I was asked a simple response to an algebraic equation. I knew the answer but could not express it in English. I felt ignorant and lost. In the back of my mind, I was afraid of not being able to continue with my studies, something that I loved beyond any other desire I might cherish.
Surprisingly I was accepted to attend Boston English High School in September 1966. With the academic schedule in my hands on the first day of school, I was lost. I didn't know where or how to get to my biology class. After half hour, I arrived at my class late. The teacher did not reproach me. On the contrary, he greeted me with a smile.
Encouraged, that evening, I pushed through doing my first homework and answered the question:
"What is biology?"
With the Italian-English dictionary next to me, I read the first sentence of the first chapter of the biology text:
"Biology is the study of life."
It took me a while, but I persisted. It is something that I continue doing today in America. I insist on studying life. I often get lost in my questions, but I also discover unusual insights. Often I feel discouraged about the world around me, but I find the impetus to go on and be the best I can be in an English-speaking world.
I live where I have chosen to work and I have become the Pasquale I always wanted to be:
Pasqualino, an Italian boy who loves to dream.
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