The addiction that I developed in Italy was nothing other than sweet and savory. I couldn’t help myself. The cravings were thought consuming. It was always available and my pusher always appeared friendly and concerned about my satisfaction. Of course my pusher is the employee of a local gelateria. And at this moment she seems mildly annoyed with my feeble attempts to communicate. In my defense I am trying to learn the language and for her sake alone I have already learned how to ask her for my favorite flavor of gelato, fragola…strawberry. Actually, to be honest, this was not helpful since I was interested in the peach flavor at the time. But even when I have the taste variable of the gelato exchange figured out there is one other part that must be included. That would be the size. Flavor + ___________= Bliss. She stares at me waiting less than patiently for my response. I stare back blankly. I attempt to understand what she is asking. Like most people do when they don’t understand, I do the lean over the shiny glass, which allows the gelato inside to both elude and entice me. I listen again.

“Piccola?”

Almost without control my mouth feebly attempts to mimic hers. And suddenly I wonder why that seems to be the common approach when a person finds themselves in a “lost in translation” situation. What is it about leaning in and mouthing what people think they’ve heard that makes us think that listeners will suddenly understand every word that is coming out of our mouths? I’ve seen it hundreds of times in my own experience. People who don’t speak English will ask questions or walk into situations knowing that they will have difficulty communicating but they do it anyway. I was always baffled by the number of people I have encountered who are in America with only three words of English at their disposal.

Now I am on the receiving end of such judgment. The woman working at the gelateria huffs and puffs and nearly blows down my hopes of indulging in this savory treat. I may not understand her Italian but the eye roll I receive translates just fine. She walks over to the sign with the prices listed.

“Piccola?” she asks and points at the part of the sign that clearly reads 1,30 . I see another option that is 2. I use my reading comprehension skills courtesy of the U.S. education system to figure out that piccola means small.

“Piccola, per favore,” I finally say. Money changes hands, spoon is thrust into the gelato which is then pushed across the counter. It’s over and done.

Standing outside with my gelato I think about every single client I’ve ever helped who spoke little to no English at my job. One simple scoop of gelato left me with many questions about cross-cultural communication swirling in my head. I had seen the other side of the language barrier and now I regretted all those times that I condemned someone for not being able to communicate when really it is a dual partnership. This partnership requires an open mind and, most importantly, patience to knowing that understanding another person is often a process.