How to Say "She's Pregnant" in Sicilian

Learn how to say “She’s pregnant” in Sicilian, and learn from Tony’s grandmother that there is much more to communication than just words.

Transcript:

My name is Tony Lopresti and I’m going to teach you how to say, “She’s pregnant”, in Sicilian.

Now, grab your bottom lip gently between your teeth. At the same time, cast your eyes gently upward and to the left, and then tilt your head up slightly in the same direction and then back down again, as if your were indicating something in that direction. 

Again, grab your bottom lip gently between your teeth. At the same time, cast your eyes gently upward and to the left, and then tilt your head up slightly in the same direction and then back down again. Do all that with the wisp of a smile.

That was how my Sicilian grandmother, always somewhat timid and shy, would tell the other women that someone was pregnant. She would never actually say the word “pregnant” out loud. That would be too much information. Just the lip in the teeth and the little eye-head action. That communicated everything – sex, love, fertility, children, family, struggle. If her eyes smiled when she tilted her head that meant the woman had a decent husband and probably laughed a lot. 

If her eyes were a bit worried, well that meant the woman was not in such a good situation. And if she placed her hand in front of her, palm towards herself, and added a little flick of the wrist up and down, well, that meant the woman was probably being beaten.

My grandmother had six or seven children of her own, so she understood the full import of her head gesture. All of them, except one - my mother, died at birth or shortly thereafter.

Every time my grandmother looked at me with her joyful, twinkly eyes, her profound delight washed over me like a shower of sunshine.

Yet, at the same time, when she saw me and my two younger sisters, how much sadness must have risen in her breast. Sadness for all the children who were with her for the briefest of moments and then … gone. Sadness for all the grandchildren whose souls were stuck in the realm of the not yet conceived. Sadness for all the growing up that could have been but that died five or six times after just one day.

There’s a little hill with one tree on it in Fernwood Cemetery just outside of Philadelphia where I grew up. My grandfather and my mother would take me there every now and then after my grandmother died. Under that hill is where my grandparents’ babies are buried, along with many other babies. No markings. No grave stones. Just a tree.

All the laughter and tears and play and arguments and hair-pulling and hugs that never were. All that potential humanity encased in a tree.

If there’s a child in your life – a daughter, son, niece, nephew, grandchild or other child in your care – it would be silly and glib of me to say, “Hug that child.” Maybe I can say, “See that child.” From their first breaths they are separate, fully contained, fully equipped, complete human beings – persons – despite any fragilities or difficulties or challenges that might possess them. They are not extensions of us. They are not mini-adults. They are not even ours. They are in our custody by no choice of their own. We are the caretakers of delicate yet powerful vessels.

So, we should judge ourselves by my grandmother’s standard. She always repeated to me in Sicilian this profound understanding: “Amour non e che diggin’ i genti che sentunnu. E che vidi che fannu.”

“Love,” she said, “isn’t what people say they feel. It’s what you see them do.”

Love isn’t what people say they feel. It’s what you see them do.

Our souls reveal themselves in our actions, in our bodies, in the set of our faces. We can’t hide the truth of our inner lives. We communicate constantly and truthfully through our behavior, not through our words. We can bite our lip and tilt our head and eyes and with that tiny gesture communicate an entire family saga.

So, when it comes to the children in your life, to your family, to your friends, to the world – what do people see you DO?

I’d like to know your stories, too. So when you can, please send me a memory that might have come to you as you listened. I’ll get back to you. Bye for now!

Originally published by The Prismatist, an online magazine.