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“What does ‘thou shalt not kill’ mean, Mama?” seven-year-old Daniela asked as she skipped around the kitchentable.

“It means,tesoro honey, that people should not kill each other. Now”—she waved her arms—“stop running near the oven. You’ll make the cake goflat.”

Earlier in the day, Daniela had stood at the front of her first-grade classroom at St. Peter’s Roman Catholic Elementary School and recited the Ten Commandments. When she was done Mrs. Foster, the teacher with the gentle smile and perfectly arched eyebrows, said, “Very good, Daniela.” Smiling, Daniela returned to herseat.

Daniela skipped around the kitchen table again, rattling off the Commandments in perfect order. “Ottimo, good job,” Daniela’s mother replied impatiently, “now go tell Papa it’s time for dinner, go onnow.”

“Yes, Mama.” Daniela skipped her way out of the kitchen toward her father’s art studio at the other end of the house. Her mother shook her head. How Daniela loved the sound her black patent leather shoes made as they click-click-clicked against the hardwoodfloors.

“Papa,” Daniela announced, skipping right into her father’s studio, “Pronto mangare. Time to eat.” Daniela loved showing off her bilingual skills. Papabeamed.

“All right,” he replied, kissing the top of her head. “Tell her I’ll be right there.” He picked up a rag to wipe the paint from his right index finger. The painting on the easel before him caught Daniela’s eye. As quickly as she had forgotten that skipping wasn’t permitted near a hot, cake-filled oven, she now forgot that she should tell her mother that her father would be rightthere.

“Papa,” she pointed to the girl in the picture, “is that me?” It was a painting of a little girl wearing a