She was an American Girl...

"American Girl" could likely be the theme song to Amanda Knox life. The woman, arrested and charged for the murder of her roommate in Perugia, several years ago, was acquitted today at just about 10:00pm Italy time.

The road for her has been long and exhausting. And it's the story that any American girl could have found herself a part of--if they were in Amanda Knox situation.

In 2008, I studied abroad in Rome, Italy. Prior to going, I had not known the aggressiveness of European culture or the many cultural differences that there are--In fact, that's why I went--to find out. But what I learned, rather, was that many men can be very confusing with young women---young women who can be persuaded by good looks and a romance language--young women who can easily be swooned by a twinkle in an eye, and a shiny vespa to ride on the back of--young women who have never ventured outside of their American state...young women who are too trusting.

Even when I returned to live in Italy, I found myself on a date with a young Italian man in a small city outside of Florence--Brisighella--a man who I had met through penpals.org. And while I admit it was not my best choice--or my brightest moment, I felt okay at the time. This does show--just how naive we can be--even after having lived there, previously. Nothing happened to me--and it turned into a lovely day, at a wonderful Truffle Festival, in a beautiful city, but who knows what could have happened to me. We just NEVER know. And that's why we take chances and go with our gut. Knox never looked back when she pranced into a police office to discuss what happened to her roommate, because by all evidence, she had nothing to be worried about--she clearly was not there.

I have MANY Italian friends...and so did Amanda Knox...but it's easy to misunderstand--with a language barrier, and it's easier to be taken advantage of by strangers--just as it would be for someone in America who isn't fluent in English--or for a Russian in France, who doesn't know French. Anywhere that there is a language barrier and that there is someone who is relatively new to a place--there is likely to be some sort of misunderstanding. It can happen in foreign countries--and it can happen in our own cities.

So when Knox was taken in for questioning, following her roommate being found dead, it's no wonder she was coerced into a "confession," and it's no wonder that she was soon made out to appear as a "Foxy, Knoxy"--a name she had actually picked up by being good at soccer, not by being a sexy young woman in America.

Looking back at the entire trial--the entire four years that this has gone on, it is CLEAR as day that this could have just as easily been any other American girl--any person I studied abroad with--any American I met when I lived there recently--or even me. Many people will say that Knox was dumb--silly--stupid--naive. But I firmly believe that in ANY case in a foreign country, anyone would come off as dumb, silly, stupid, and naive--especially when language is a barrier--when a translator is feeding words into your mouth--when police officers are forcing you to believe something happened the way they want it to appear it happened, and when the MEDIA is hounding you and creating a persona for you that you never once filled at home.

Reading Twitter feeds today and Facebook statuses, it is still unbelievable to me that many of the people commenting are unaware of the man who has actually confessed to the murder--the man who convinced police that Knox was there--in order to lessen his own years in jail--the man who's footprint was left in the blood--and who's feces were left in the toilet. But it is NOT unbelievable to me that an American girl got caught in the trial of such height...it could have been any of us.

Welcome back to the states, Knox. Salute.

Moo Moo's Guide to Compromise

A good friend of mine, Tony, pointed out a book to me, just a few weeks before I journeyed to Italy. The book was called, “All I ever really needed to know I learned in Kindergarten.”

After living with a four and five year old for nearly a month now, I have discovered how true that statement is. While we learn a lot of lessons: Like sharing, washing your hands, brushing your teeth, brushing your hair, the one that stands out to me most is the idea of compromise.

I have learned from these kids that we learn compromise VERY early, but we learn about a deeper kind of compromise…we learn about bargaining.

Kids are much more intelligent than we give them credit for. They know when you are trying to trick them, they know when their parents have left and who they can try and get away with things with, and they know where the chocolate is hidden in the kitchen. They know how to scream, how to fight, and how to hustle. Their compromise is bargaining—their compromise is hustling.

Walking through the door on the coldest day in December, I tell the kids that their snack will be yogurt and that their mom has chosen it. I go to the kitchen, I take out two yogurts, I put them on the table, and I say snack time!

The kids come running in, and the young boy says—"No not that one, I look in the fridge." He spots the one and only MooMoo vanilla and chocolate pudding—the equivalent to a Trix Yogurt that would have been sitting in my fridge when I was five. The young boy turns to me and says, “Can I have that one?” Untrained, I say, "Of course"…But as soon as the young boy puts it on the table, the young girl’s eyes light up. “I WANT” she yells. And then the gaping wallows of tears begin to stream as I take it away and say we must not eat it, if it is the only one left. Thankfully, within moments the mom has walked through the door and begins to take care of business.

Just a few days later, I am faced with the same challenge. Yogurt for snack time.

I sit the two yogurts on the table. The kids sit down. The young boy eats his diligently saying “It was good…chocolate now?” I say “Maybe.” The young girl sits defiantly at the other end of the table, shaking her head with her arms across her chest. “I WANT MOO MOO.” I tell her no. So she goes and sits in another chair, still arms crossed, and a smug look on her face.

I tell the boy that he can have ONE chocolate. He and I sit down and play Eenie Meeni Miny Moe to decide which chocolate it should be. The little girl says, “Moo Moo,” and “I don’t like this one.” I know it’s not true as I have seen her eat it with her mom. She knows I am easier to get away with things with, because I can’t tell her no—and because I can’t tell her why not in her native language. All I can do is pretend to cry when she cries too, and see if she gets the point. But this time, I try something new. I start opening the yogurt and say it’s either this or nothing. She still carries the smug face. She sees the chocolate again in the boy’s hands and her eyes are bright.

“If you eat this yogurt, you will get ONE chocolate.”

Smiling, she grabs the yogurt and asks me to help her open it. I help her and she starts taking big bites.

Hustler.

Bargainer.

This is not compromise. This is the most important lesson we learn when we grow up…How to bargain our way to get what we truly want. I am starting to think the show “Are You Smarter than a Fifth Grader” should be transformed into, “Have you been hustled by a 5 year old?”