Fra Noi Embrace Your Inner Italian
As I began to traverse the moss-covered rocks submerged in the shallows, king salmon and brown trout darted between my feet like slalom skiers shredding through gates. The cold, rushing water compressed my waders as I cautiously crossed the river. In the distance, I saw my dad’s cast spiraling gracefully through the air, the colorful line painting brushstrokes across the sky. I waded on, looking for a good spot of my own, then stopped. Upstream, I spotted a king salmon lying in wait for any food drifting along with the current. I carefully began to release the line, then whipped the rod forward to launch my cast. The shimmering fly landed a few feet in front of his nose.
“Perfect,” I thought.
Now, all I needed was for him to take the bait. I waited and watched as the fly drifted past the salmon and straight back to my feet. I guess my perfect cast wasn’t so perfect after all.
My time spent fly fishing has included more than just one failed cast. I’ve caught only a meager number of fish compared to the hundreds of attempts I’ve made. On many trips, I’ve gone out and gotten wholly skunked. That being said, even the most unsuccessful days have yielded a lesson: The bounty of the catch doesn’t define the experience. Fly fishing has enabled me to connect with my father and my Italian-American nonno, even when not a single fish has been caught. Nothing compares to our time spent together in the shared solitude of nature, surrounded by water and wilderness. For me, fly fishing is more than just a hobby, it’s a way to pursue one of the best things in life: personal connection with others.
Some of the greatest memories I have with Nonno are from our time spent fishing together. His personal stories have lured me down different rabbit holes of history. While casting lines, we often talk about his service during the Vietnam War, his life abroad in Germany serving as a dentist in the Army or the latest books he’s read. He inspired my love of reading, and as a young boy I flew through biographies like “Unbroken,” the story of Louis Zamperini and his experiences as an Olympian, bombardier and prisoner of war during World War II.
Today, my love of history and literature continues. During my junior year, I began volunteering at the Italian Cultural Center at Casa Italia in Stone Park. The volunteers at the center are quite a bit older than I am, so my job is basically to do whatever they need. I shelve books, lug crates of dusty materials up and down the four flights of stairs, lift heavy boxes of donated material or climb rickety ladders. However, the most valuable thing I do at Casa is make conversation. Although the work can be tedious, I lose track of time just talking with the people there. Lucio, a volunteer who speaks only Italian, has become one of my best friends at the Casa. He and I talk for hours while I help him organize and clean. His tales of life in the old country and his immigration to the United States enthrall me and keep me entertained while we work. Chatting with him reminds me of cherished hours spent with my nonno.
Much like the stories shared by my grandfather while fishing, the connections I’ve formed at Casa will remain with me forever. As I move into a new stage of life, I understand that things won’t always be perfect, but I know that there is more to an experience than what is seen at face value. As my journey unfolds, I will continue to define my experiences not by the outcome but rather by the lessons learned and the people I meet along the way.
The above article appears in the May 2026 issue of the print version of Fra Noi. Our gorgeous, monthly magazine contains a veritable feast of news and views, profiles and features, entertainment and culture.
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