The Pimsleur Language series started the lesson with an Italian conversation between a man and a woman. Driving home from Ithaca, New York I repeated the words out loud. My tongue easily formed the foreign phrases and bridged my present to my past. A heart memory recalled. I knew the melodic sounds, even when I couldn’t recognize the meaning of the words. The bloodline flow of syllables once fluent between my father and his immigrant parents during my childhood was a legacy not passed on after my birth.
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