Scholastic Spotlight: Alessandro Sassi

Alessandro also received an award for his editorial cartoon (above).

L’Interrogazione
Sassi, Alessandro
Grade: 12
School: Fargo South High School, Fargo ND Educator: Kelly Sassi
AWARD: Honorable Mention

In September of my junior year, I flew off to the mother country. I left my small town of Fargo, North Dakota and arrived in the metropolis of Rome. As a second generation Italian-American, I was familiar with the day-to-day phrases my father spoke to me at home, but this was something completely different. I wondered if I, the goldfish, was ready to swim in the big pond. Would I be able to succeed at one of the most selective high schools in Italy with the skills I possessed? I was not here for the normal reasons students study abroad for a year. I was here to see if I could bring out that Italian blood in myself, if I could reconnect with my father’s family, my language, my culture. Or would I lose my identity?

In the middle of the year, my class was studying Dante’s Inferno. Even my Italian classmates struggled with the old Florentine dialect in which this masterpiece was written, so for me, it was an especially painstaking endeavor. Furthermore, our understanding of the book was tested in a manner unlike anything I’d experienced in America. It’s called l’interrogazione (the Interrogation). The menacing name of this oral exam is an accurate description of its function. A student is called at random before the class and without the aid of any books or notes, he or she must answer questions posed by the teacher. Italian students fear l’interrogazione as Dante fears Cèrbero.

I was horrified that I might be called on.


One brisk winter day my Italian teacher burst into the classroom clutching her leather- bound grade book in one hand and a copy of the Inferno in the other. The grade book told us someone was going to be interrogated today and the other book responded to the question of what the student would be tested on.

The normally chatty classroom was dead quiet, for those who had not been interrogated were busy crossing themselves and mumbling prayers. I was one without a grade, so an interrogation could have been very probable. My thoughts were interrupted by the teacher pointing out what I had just realized; she called me before the class. Thirty pairs of thankful eyes turned to the nervous exchange student. I walked silently to the front of the class and forced my shaky legs to hold me. I looked outside at the blue sky that bit through the winter frost. In contrast, the stuffy classroom seemed to get hotter and hotter every time I couldn’t respond to a question. By the end, I had not answered a single question correctly. I wasn’t disappointed as much in my grade, as I was in myself. I felt as if Minos had just assigned me to the lowest level of hell--it was disgraceful. Could I even call myself Italian?

I made the choice to come to Italy to connect with who I thought I was, but after that failure, I was a nobody. I let myself down along with the entire side of my Italian family that would have been embarrassed by my attempt to fit into something that I wasn’t. For a moment, I felt like I would always be an outsider. But then I thought back to why I came to this country. I grabbed hold of my classmate Beatrice before the end of class, and she agreed to help me study. After my awful interrogation, my teacher said she would be hearing from me again next week. I kept that failure in my head during the study session with my classmate and throughout that entire week, I remembered what that low felt like, and it pushed me to reach higher. I even went as far as pretending the plush bear toy on my desk was my teacher and I practiced articulating my thoughts to that bear.

When it came time for my second interrogation, the hours I spent with my classmate and the time I spent preparing permitted me to give a successful speech before my class, filled with detailed analysis. My chest puffed with pride.

Throughout this week, I didn’t just learn about the symbolic retributions of the third circle of Dante’s hell, or how to present in Italian without getting nervous, I learned that I don’t take to failing easily. Even when my identity as a person was in jeopardy, I did not sulk in confusion; I held that failure close to my heart and let it be a reminder to strive harder. I not only learned academic-wise how to cope with failure, I felt that I learned how to make a foreign place my home. After that second interrogation, I felt my Italian side warm up in me. I reaffirmed my belief that the best way to learn is through failure. That said, I don’t believe failure is something that can be conquered, it will always be a part of life. I feel, however, that I am more able than most to come back from failure even when the stakes are high. This was one of the most confusing times of my life, but in the end, I found out who I was: someone who appreciates learning about different cultures and diversity. Someone who learned something about what it means to be Italian.