Category Archives: Italy

Rites of Passage: Italian School Exams

The Italian education system is big on big exams. At the end of elementary, middle, and high school, everyone has to take an exam, with both written and oral components. When it came time for Ross’ 5th grade exam, I was terrified on her behalf; the teachers had made such a big deal of it, saying months ahead of time: “This will be on the exam, you have to start studying now.”

So I assumed that her exam results would be of interest to the middle school she’d be going on to, and asked the teachers when I should come to collect a report.

The teachers seemed surprised. “You don’t have to pick up the results.”

“Doesn’t the new school need to see them?”

“No.”

“Then who does see them?”

“No one. We put them in a file, and no one ever looks at them again.”

I was dumbfounded. I tried asking some other parents: if no one ever looks at the results, what is the point of this exam, and why does everyone make such a fuss about it?

“It’s traditional, a rite of passage,” was the explanation.

Now Ross is finishing 8th grade, and we’re up against another exam. This time it’s four days of written tests (Italian – an essay, math – ouch, English – a doddle, and French), followed (after ten more days to study) by a twenty-minute oral, in which questions may be asked covering anything she’s studied over the year. They tell me the oral is a test of maturity and presence as much as actual knowledge; if so, Ross should pass with flying colors!

Until a few years ago, schooling was compulsory only until age 14, and I suppose the middle school exam determined what sort of high school you would go to (if any). The type of high school you attended would in turn determine whether you would go on to university, and what sort of course you could do there. Things have loosened up now, so the exact type of high school diploma does not force your university choice (though some types of high school prepare students for university better than others).

So it seems likely that the middle school exam is no longer as important as it was, and again I’m wondering: what’s the point?

I’m foreigner: I ask questions like that. Most Italians wouldn’t. When we were scouting new middle schools last year (having decided that the school Ross had attended for 6th and 7th grade was not right for her), I asked one of the principals about this exam. Her reply was refreshingly honest: “It will probably disappear in a few years, it’s practically meaningless now.” Of course that’s not much comfort to the kids who still have to do this meaningless yet gruelling exam.

But, if you ask the parents, it’s another rite of passage that they all went through, and think their kids should, too. Sometimes I get very frustrated with the Italian attitude that things should continue as they are, simply because they’ve always been that way… (This makes a lot of sense in some fields, such as food and wine, but not in education!)

At any rate, Ross seems to be getting through it without too much agony, and only moderate maternal nagging to study (I’m so busy moving that I’ve hardly been home – I have to nag by cellphone). And we can all look forward to doing it again at the end of high school (which is five years, by the way), when she faces the maturita‘.


Feb 9, 2004

The esame della quinta (elementary school-leaving exam) has been abolished by recent reforms introduced by Education Minister Letizia Moratti. No one mourns it.

Elementary School: An Italian Experience

Rossella’s five years of elementary school took place at Parco Trotter, where she had also done scuola materna (preschool). We had been spoiled by a great scuola materna experience; elementary was… not so great.

I’m reaching the conclusion that the quality of education hinges almost entirely on the quality of teachers. And there’s the rub. Until recently, becoming a teacher in Italy did not require any teaching qualification. To teach middle or high school, you had to have a college degree (laurea) in the subject you would teach; to teach elementary school, you didn’t even need that much! There were no requirements for teacher training classes or actual classroom experience, and apparently little opportunity for teachers to learn any techniques at all, let alone new ones. This has now changed, but there is a large body of teachers still in the system who cannot be dislodged from their jobs or even required to upgrade their professional qualifications. As far as I can tell, what little they know about teaching, they have learned on their own or from colleagues.

Of course, some people manage to be wonderful teachers without formal teacher training, and some are motivated to learn more about their profession even when not required to. But, without some system of professional qualifications in place, individual capability and motivation guarantee nothing: parents can only hope for fate to assign their kids some of those few, great natural teachers.

We had no such luck.

Parco Trotter had four sections of each grade level, with two “fixed” teachers per section for the major subjects: one taught math and science, the other Italian, history, and geography. These two were supposed to remain with the same section of students from first through fifth grade, and parents had no choice about what section their child was in.

In Rossella’s year, one section was blessed with the kind of teacher beloved by both kids and parents: enthusiastic, involved, creative, and very energetic, especially considering that he was about 60 years old. His class got to do all sorts of fun and inspiring things. Two other sections had teachers who were at least competent, if not wildly original. Ross’ section, however, got the shaft. For administrative reasons, they had about six teachers in the first three years. This profoundly upset many of the parents, who felt it extremely important for the children to have the same teachers for all five years. However, as one friend pointed out from painful personal experience, having the same teacher for five years is not necessarily a good thing – what if she hates you?

I agreed with him on that point, and in any case wasn’t concerned about stability at school; I feel that stability is the responsibility of the parents. I was more interested in teaching ability, but I, too, was doomed to disappointment. Of the two “fixed” teachers we finally ended up with, for 4th and 5th grade, one was merely competent, the other downright embarrassing.

Ross’ grades were poor. Remembering that I, too, had earned mediocre grades through elementary school, I wondered if her problem might be the same as mine had been: sheer boredom. For middle school we decided to find a far more challenging school, hoping that this would get her interested in learning. The school we chose turned out to be the wrong one, but that’s another story.

…I abandoned this article yesterday morning, not sure how to tie it all together with some other thoughts and observations on Italian schools. We were out for lunch (between various house-related errands in Lecco), and with our post-lunch espresso were given sugar packets printed with quotes from Arturo Graf, a late 19th-century Italian poet, critic, and educator. My packet said: “Great is the teacher who, teaching little, sparks in the student a huge desire to learn.” Amen, brother.

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Changing Homes in Italy

Anyone who has had the experience of setting up a household in Italy will wince at the list of things we have to do in the next two months: sell the family home in Rome (emptying it of many years’ accumulation of books – this is a family of professors! – furniture, etc.), set up the new apartment in Lecco, get our daughter through her middle school exam, send her off to summer camp in the US, then, finally, move our own stuff from Milan to Lecco. Oh, and in the midst of all this I may be starting a very demanding new full-time job. (The second interview went well, now I’m just waiting to see the money.)

Setting up simple household utilities in Italy used to be an arduous process. As one friend put it, getting a phone line installed required “a recommendation and a bottle of whiskey.” The recommendation would ideally be from someone with contacts inside Telecom Italia, to ask the folks there to be nice to you. The bottle of whiskey would be a “gift” to encourage the technicians to get their job done, but you might need another bottle to tide you through the months-long, completely unnecessary wait!

Things have changed. I called Telecom Italia last week about a line for the new apartment in Lecco. The place has been inhabited before, so the wires are there, but I wasn’t sure all the plugs were working, and the line was of course disconnected. The lady said that a technician would call me in about ten days to make an appointment. Actually, he called me two days later, when I happened to be too far away from Lecco to meet him. So we made an appointment for yesterday morning, 9:30. When I arrived at 9:15, he was already standing outside waiting for me. Turns out some repairs were needed to two plugs, but within an hour all five plugs and the line were working. In the meantime I called the electricity company from my cellphone. After reading the relevant numbers off the meter, I was shocked to be told: “Okay, now just cut the plastic seal and flip the lever; it should already be working.” There’s gotta be a catch. This is Italy. It can’t be that easy.

On my way back to the railway station, I was delighted to find near home a good polleria (a butcher shop specializing in poutry, selling cooked and uncooked chicken, other kinds of poultry, and rabbit). There is also a new, American-style coffee bar offering different types of coffee (Ethiopian, Kenya, etc.) – unheard-of in Italy! I had just had a coffee, so didn’t go in to check, but maybe (said she wistfully) they make a decent cup of American-style “long” coffee. I like espresso, especially when I’m in a hurry, but there are times when nothing beats lingering over a huge, steaming mug. That would be great, and very unusual here. In every bar I’ve seen in Italy so far, if you ask for American coffee you get espresso in a large cup, with hot water added. Yuck. This new coffee bar looks like nothing I’ve seen in Italy, not even in Milan. Which perhaps proves that Lecco is not as provincial as the Milanese would have me believe!

more moving | moving again!

Generation Gap: Italy’s Ageing Population

One aspect of Milan I’m really tired of is that it seems so old. Europe’s population in general is ageing, but the average in Milan seems to be even older, though I don’t know why that should be. Surely they could find some cheaper and more congenial place to retire. New Yorkers retire to Florida to get away from cold winters, icy sidewalks, and a fast-paced life that has no time for people who move slowly. Why don’t the Milanese?

Whatever the reason, there are a lot of old people in Milan. Nothing inherently wrong with that; some of my favorite people are a lot older than I am, and I count them as friends. But life in Milan must be harsh for the old, because most of them seem to be in eternally bad moods, always looking for something to complain about. This is so widespread that we notice any old person who actually looks happy. A few days ago, in the subway, Rossella and I saw an old couple smiling and laughing together. It was so unusual that it made our day.

Milan’s oldies seem especially to seek occasions to complain about the younger generations. A friend witnessed this scene:

An old man got onto a crowded bus. He planted himself in front of a young man wearing a workman’s coverall, who sprawled, exhausted, in a seat. The old man glared at him for some minutes, until a young woman nearby nervously offered him her seat.

“No,” said the old man, “I’m waiting for this jerk to get up and do the right thing.”

The younger man raised his eyes and said, “I just finished working for fourteen hours. You’re retired and haven’t done a damn thing all day. I’m not moving.”

Changing Places – Moving from Milan to Lecco

It’s a phenomenon familiar to people who have moved around a lot: when you’re about to leave a place, you are suddenly out of patience with it. Annoyances you’ve put up with for years loom large, and you count the days til you can get the hell out. This is a defense mechanism: by concentrating on what you dislike, you hope to lessen the pain of leaving the things and people you do like.

Thus with me and Milano at the moment. We’re getting ready to move to Lecco (a mid-sized town on Lake Como, not very far away), and I am at the end of my tether with everything Milanese. I’ve had enough of sidewalks used as dogs’ toilets, gypsy beggars who all whine the same tale with the same words and faux mispronunciations (I could recite it along with them), of nearly getting run over in crosswalks, of bitchy old ladies who bear a grudge against anyone younger than themselves. Most of all, I am tired of pollution and the respiratory problems that result; I hope Lecco will cure all that.

This move is different, though. I’ve been in Milan – in the same apartment! – more than twice as long as any previous place in my life. I now know what it’s like to be part of a neighborhood. The shopkeepers know my habits (odd American ones, such as making pot roast out of beef rather than veal), and will give me credit when I don’t have cash. They adore my constant striving to give them exact change, and always carrying a cloth shopping bag instead of taking plastic ones. The owner of the coffee bar downstairs frequently gives Rossella chocolates; in all these years, he never figured out that she always gives them away.

I will miss some favorite restaurants, where we’ve been regulars for years. I will miss knowing where to find things, especially things that are hard to get in Lecco, such as Indian spices, Basmati rice, and fresh coriander. I will miss being able to get almost everywhere I need to go by public transport – one of this summer’s ordeals will be
getting an Italian driver’s license
(and, believe me, it will be an ordeal). I will miss having many cinemas, theatres, and museums close by, even if we hardly ever go to them.

On the other hand, in Lecco we’ll be living three blocks from Lake Como, instead of three blocks from more gray squalor. We’ll be living in an apartment twice as large as our current three rooms, and I can finally have an office NOT in the bedroom. And a kitchen larger than one meter by two. Am I looking forward to the move? You bet.

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