You can spot one from at least 100 meters away! They are, at best, beautiful, historic buildings about 100 years old or so, restored to their original states, and adorn flags (of course!), plaques, statues and carvings, emitting an inviting air of "Please, come inside and learn." At worst, they are fifty-year-old buildings, badly in need of restoration adorning flags and that's pretty much it, emitting an air of "Get in here and learn. You don't have a choice." They are Italian schools.
Now, this native Texan dares to blog about Italian schools, because, frankly, I have a valid right. I have earned that right through fifteen years and counting of being a protagonist in them, carrying the precious title of Mom-of-Italian kids. I'm specific about that because I'm convinced that a Dad-of-Italian kids has it a bit easier. Most of the time, in my experience, moms were always there, waiting for the infamous bi-annual teacher meetings, which we are strongly expected to attend. My three sons went to Italian schools from Day 1 completely and utterly by choice. My husband and I chose to raise our sons in Italian schools. For me, deciding to plant roots in Italy and raising my sons here, meant being completely integrated into Italian life.