I usually take my walk by the sea every day, and I often stop at a small park overlooking the water to enjoy the view. Each time I go there, I see something that never fails to touch my heart—loving parents with their children. Fathers patiently teach their little ones how to roller-skate, ride a bike, or kick a football. What strikes me most is the tenderness and patience they show. Even when the children stumble or fall, the fathers never lose their calm. They kneel, help them up, hug them, kiss them, and whisper softly, “Va bene—it’s okay.”
The mothers are no different. Their laughter fills the air as they play with their children. And when a little one becomes naughty or starts screaming, the mother’s voice remains gentle—firm yet full of compassion as she explains why that behavior isn’t right. The love and care extend beyond the young. It’s common to see grown children bringing their elderly parents to the park—guiding them gently by the hand, helping them sit by the water, and chatting together with warmth and laughter. As the sun sets and I walk back home, I think of my own childhood—of how hard my parents worked to give us a good life.
Their days were filled with responsibilities and the constant effort to provide stability and comfort for the family. I don’t blame them; in our Indian culture, love was often expressed through duty, sacrifice, and protection rather than through the kind of open, tender communication that is common in Western families. Yet here in Italy, I see love spoken aloud—shown through gestures, laughter, and touch. And I can’t help but wonder how I might have been shaped if I had received that same kind of affection from my own parents. Watching these Italian families, I’m reminded that love, in all its forms, is the truest language of life. The writer is professor Emeritus, Loyola Marymount University, Los Angeles