I See the Empty Nest from Both Sides Now

“I don’t want to hear you talk anymore. I want to hear others talking about you.”

Those lines struck me the hardest when I first saw Cinema Paradiso, a Sicilian coming-of-age movie, in 1990. In the scene, the local film projectionist, Alfredo, implores his young mentee, Salvatore, to leave their small hometown in Sicily and head to Rome to pursue his dream of becoming a filmmaker.

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At the time, I was in college and watching with my then-girlfriend, now-wife, Michele. She and I had plans that would soon take us from our hometown to large cities to pursue our American dreams. So Alfredo’s fatherly advice made sense to our young ears.

Cinema Paradiso was shot in various parts of Sicily, which we also dreamed of visiting one day for two reasons. First, the film displayed its beautiful landscapes and quaint town squares. Second, Michele’s grandfather, Tony, was born in a small Sicilian town and lived there until age 9, when he emigrated to the United States.

Fast forward thirty-five years to 2025. That year, Michele and I finally achieved our dream of visiting Sicily to celebrate a wedding anniversary. We toured ancient ruins in Agrigento, walked medieval streets in Ragusa, and hiked among volcanic craters on Mount Etna. We also visited the small town where Grandpa Tony was born. Although we did not meet any relatives, it was powerful to wander through the town square where he once walked as a child.

Another highlight of the trip was learning about Sicilian history. Our favorite tour guide explained that for over 2,500 years, the highly desirable island of Sicily had been fought over by many empires, resulting in eleven “dominations” or conquests by Greek, Roman, Norman, Spanish, and Arab regimes, among others. The result? In her words, Sicily is a “lasagna,” or palimpsest, of layered history.

For me, traveling to Sicily redefined how the American dream and the empty nest are inextricably linked. It also marked the bittersweet end of my parenting journey with Michele—or at least the “full nest” part.

Layered history is precisely what Michele and I experienced on a personal level during our visit to Cefalu, a waterfront city featured in Cinema Paradiso. In one of the movie’s most romantic scenes, an outdoor film is projected onto a city wall at night and people watch from the beach and from boats in the harbor. As we walked along the harbor’s pier that evening and gazed at the blank wall, a flood of mixed emotions engulfed me.

On one hand, I reveled in the apex of our personal journeys. Here Michele and I were retracing the steps from a movie we’d seen thirty-five years ago about leaving one’s hometown to achieve one’s dreams. And we had reached our professional goals. Michele’s achievement was especially poignant because she was part of the first generation in her family to attend college, and Sicily is where it all had begun, with Grandpa Tony.

On the other hand, I thought about our two daughters back home, both in their early 20s. Ironically, just a few months before Michele and I left for Sicily, both had moved out of our house to chase their own professional dreams—one locally and one across the country. So what started as a wedding anniversary trip also became an “empty nest” trip. That milestone was on my mind in Cefalu, for it made me reconsider how to interpret that “I don’t want to hear you talk anymore. I want to hear others talking about you” scene from Cinema Paradiso.

When I first heard those words back in college, I identified with Salvatore. Thirty-five years later, on the island where the scene was filmed, I identified with Alfredo. For now I understood how hard, bittersweet, and sacrificial it was for Alfredo to utter that sentiment to his young charge. After all, there’s a part of all parents and mentors that would love to hold on to their children—and full nest—forever.

But parents also know that it’s in the best interest of their children to let go at some point, so their offspring can repeat the cycle of pursuing their own dreams. At that moment, our American dream came full circle. I finally realized how Michele’s and my parents must have felt back when we “flew the coop,” and how much strength it must have taken for them to sit on their hands, button their lips, and watch us fly away. No doubt we did not thank them enough along the way.

Alas, my reveries in Cefalu’s harbor were grounded in an odd, sudden way. Like a knife through lasagna, the sound of laughter cut through my ruminations, as Michele and I noticed two women swimming in the water near us. It was too dark to see their faces, but they seemed tipsy, which was confirmed when one started singing Andrea Bocelli’s famous Italian song, “Con Te Partiro” (“Time to Say Goodbye”). What were the odds? Michele and I still do not know why she was singing that song, but several bystanders laughed. I chuckled as well, and that song rings in my ears whenever I succumb to missing my full nest.

For me, traveling to Sicily redefined how the American dream and the empty nest are inextricably linked. It also marked the bittersweet end of my parenting journey with Michele—or at least the “full nest” part.

And speaking of endings, Cinema Paradiso has one of the most celebrated final scenes in film history—a key reason it won an Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film. After Salvatore achieves his dream of becoming a filmmaker in Rome, he returns to his hometown in Sicily for Alfredo’s funeral. The astonishing gift that Alfredo leaves for his former mentee needs no translation. If you haven’t seen it, have a tissue ready.

Are you a parent whose “nest” has been emptied? What has been your experience? Have you had, or been, a mentor? Have you mentored someone who went on to achieve their dreams in a significant way, perhaps surpassing your own? Tell us about that…

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Previously Vincent O’Keefe wrote “Scattered Pictures #3: My First Wedding” for Oldster.

Oldster Magazine explores what it means to travel through time in a human body, at every phase of life. It’s a reader-supported publication that pays essayists. To support this work, please become a paid subscriber. 🙏

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