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I traveled the world and I spoke to the oracles. In China I asked the ancient Terra Cotta Warriors. In Sweden I asked the Great Moose. On the Amazon River I asked the Ancient Tree. But none could answer my question. "What has happened to the Italians I had believed were in my paper bag of life?"

Trying to piece together the story of my Italian connection has been like trying to put a watermelon into a coke bottle, although I do believe that trying to fold a fitted sheet is harder.

My Italian great-grandfather Antonio Capuano Pavarno died at "the great old age" of ninety-seven. Emanuele Fontanini of The House of Fontanini in Lucca, Italy, died at the great old age of ninety-seven. My beloved friend Rhonda Fleming, film and television actress and singer, renowned for her exquisite beauty, died at the great old age of ninety-seven. In Italy, most of her films were dubbed by Dhia Cristiani. Perhaps I, too, shall live to a great old age.

But at the age of thirty-three I still believed that I was Italian. That was before the DNA test.