The memory of smoke

The memory of smoke

Sunday, January 8, 2012

How to piss me off, one easy lesson in three parts.

To tell me that my father is smart and knowledgeable and Aunt Evelyn holds grudges and I am "independent," according to the would-be (as an entitlement) brother.

I know my father could fix cars and was smart with his hands, but I also know he couldn't deal with my schoolwork after I was in 3rd grade, treated people badly, and was willfully ignorant of anything new.

Of course I knew Aunt Evelyn had prejudices - she hated Italians for instance. But also that she and Uncle Ernie were the only people in the family who went to Elizabeth's wedding to Ed, after her divorce - a big thing for a very devout Catholic of her generation. I know she loved me, listened to me when no one else did, and I accepted her as a whole, seeing the flaws quite clearly. To assume I did not is condescension, nothing less.

The word "grudge" takes someone else's judgement of character and turns it into a petty spat. Yes, some people take petty spats and turn them into grudges, but to throw the word around is a dangerous activity.

And I value my sense of independence, beats the hell out of simpering dependence. Gosh, I don't just lean on everyone and don't expect them to take care of my every little desire, what a (harrumph!) In-de-PEN-dent little bitch!" On the other hand, I'm also a spoiled little princess, according to my father the last time we spoke. Huh?

Reality to suit, no waiting.

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