By Gabriella Scarlatta
I wasn’t meant to go to university. My parents’ plan was for me to work in my mother’s panetteria store, eventually take it over, and spend the rest of my life there and in our hometown.
But I had a different path in mind.
Since my first year in middle school, I had been telling my parents I wanted to go to university. Their response was always: “Yeah, yeah, of course!” In high school, I often expressed my love for foreign languages, literature, reading, and storytelling. Their casual responses were always, “Brava. That’s nice, interesting, bene, bene.” Though my parents often fought, they were unusually united in their resistance to my educational aspirations, which made me both suspicious and a little scared
My father was a baker, and my mother sold his breads and other specialties like brioches, breadsticks, cookies, cured meats, and candies in her store. When my mother bought a new, prominent store on the chicest pedestrian street downtown and told me it was for me to eventually take over, my suspicions grew. My concerns were always met with a vague, “But of course, don’t worry, we’ll see.”
Fast forward to May of my senior year in high school (Italian high schools have five years), it was time for my parents to commit to letting me enroll at a university. It was just a matter of where, as my hometown didn’t have one. I could either go to the Università di Torino or to l’Université de Savoie in Chambéry, France. My region, Aosta Valley, is bilingual, with French and Italian equally taught and spoken, so either was an option. When I received a full scholarship to attend the university in Chambéry and loving France, it was an easy decision.
My high school principal organized a campus visit to the university and invited me to join. All I needed was a 50,000 lire registration fee, fully refundable, to secure my spot for the upcoming academic year. It was time for my parents to turn their “but of course” into “go ahead and register, here’s the 50,000 lire!” They promised me the money—after all, I had been working in my mother’s store and my father’s bakery every summer since I was 12. But the week before I was scheduled to go to France, they decided to take a trip, just the two of them.
They assured me they’d leave the money in their bedroom drawer where they kept cash, documents, and jewelry. When I checked, the drawer was empty. Desperate, I asked my brothers for help, but they had no money to spare.
That night, I sobbed on the phone to my parents, convinced they didn’t want me to go to college and didn’t love me. My father insisted he had forgotten and told me, “Just go see Signor Caridi, my friend. Tell him I will reimburse him, and he will give you the money.”
Embarrassed and humiliated at the thought of asking a near-stranger for money, I felt hopeless. But my father insisted. So, if I wanted to go to college, I had no choice but to visit Signor Caridi. He owned a furniture store and was friendly but always busy. When I entered, a salesperson approached me. In a trembling voice, I said I was Francesco Scarlatta’s daughter and was there to see Signor Caridi. “Ah, sì, the baker! I know him. I’ll get Signor Caridi straight away.” That interaction left me petrified and insecure, but then I heard a warm voice calling my name.
Signor Caridi was walking towards me and seemed to recognize me.
“How can I help you?” he asked. I was too embarrassed to speak. But sensing my unease, he made small talk: “How old are you?”
“Who are your friends?” “Do you know my niece Giuliana?” “Are you in school?”
“Yes, I go to high school in Courmayeur, I am a senior,” I shared.
“Ah sì, your father told me. What are you planning to do with your high school diploma? You don’t really need it to run your mother’s store.”
That was my opening. “I am planning to go to college.”
A gasp. “Oh?” He was shocked!
“Yes, my father told me I could come to you for help. He forgot to leave the 50,000 lire I need to enroll at the university. I need it for tomorrow because my principal is driving me and some classmates to the university for a campus visit. My parents left and promised to leave me the money, but they didn’t, and I—” Tears welled up.
Signor Caridi’s demeanor changed. He softened, smiled, and assured me he would help. He opened his wallet and handed me a 50,000 lire bill.
And that’s how I became the first in my family to attend university. Signor Caridi launched my incredible and fulfilling educational journey. I completed my undergraduate and master’s degrees in France, and later, a second master’s and a Ph.D. at WSU.
That summer, like every summer until graduation, I worked in my mother’s store from 7 am to 8 pm, June to September. My mother often remarked that I didn’t need a college degree to work in the store. But I persevered. When fall came, I prepared for my dorm room and classes, though my fears and insecurities began to surface. I confided these at the dinner table, and despite seeming indifferent, my parents started expressing pride that I would be the first in the family to attend college.
At the university, I felt supported and at home. My advisor was helpful and genuinely interested in my success. It was easy to talk to professors and classmates with whom I shared much in common. My determination had served me well. I also came to understand that my parents, deep down, were supportive in their own way. They, too, were afraid of the unknown, of what an advanced education entailed. Ultimately, they were proud to see me graduate, from my B.A. to my Ph.D. and to find a fulfilling and cherished career as a university professor.
