Monthly Archives: October 2016

Email.

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Working for over a decade at the elementary school furthest west, on the district cut off between city and upscale suburb, I became accustomed to being told: “Think before you speak.” The leading admonishment was usually: “Sometimes you come across as ‘harsh’.”

On that side of town, this was code for Being Italian-American.

Typically stating my case without fear, and preferring to do so in person I think it was 1997 before, finally caving, I joined the generic introverts’ preferred mode: the Internet. But, even then, uncertain about losing locus of control I chose a medium that, while touted as cutting edge by the guys at Kinkos, would prove – like myself – the least attractive to the hip and swanky – Web TV.

During that short lived phase of technological indoctrination, every thought which heretofore had escaped my lips transferred into this strange new “room”, all but silent except for the inane background underscoring of electronic Erik Satie.

I was soon addicted to the red dot which signaled New Mail, appearing on the small black box perched atop its Sony 27 inch. And, late into the evening, anyone driving past the long forgotten, wide open levelors could see me, keyboard on lap, staring across the livingroom at my very own words traveling in light blue font across the blackened screen of the television.

Words. Within a year, I would become their first victim.

So easy it was to send out a behind scene query to a colleague. Even easier to tell the whole story, when prompted, in reply. By the end of what would burgeon into a life altering episode, I’d become the subject of private meetings, pointed discussion, calculated betrayal and, ultimately, the villain in a scenario which would threaten to bring down both my professional life and the public image of my entire family.

Attorneys. Board Presidents. Urgent phone calls, on Hallowe’en night, bearing sobering warnings. Hysteria. Emotional terror.

All because of emails. Emails, sent; emails, received. Then, emails printed, and distributed. Words. Just words, now on paper, never to be retracted.

No option for apologies, either. Unlike outbursts of anger, which can often be dismissed with a hug and a couple tears, these printed testaments had taken on a life of their own. They would bear witness to me, and those with whom I had chosen to associate, to those whom I had never even met.

None of us will ever know what Hillary Clinton said in print, or to whom, unless the FBI releases that email record into the public domain. The thought of this happening makes me shudder with familiar recall. I may be the loudmouthed Italian girl with no filter, offensive to some and the object of ridicule by others, but words in print have become the most formidable weapon of our age. Perhaps we had all better realize just how powerfully they speak for themselves.

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© Ruth Ann Scanzillo    10/29/16      All rights those of the author, whose story it is, and whose name appears above this line. Thank you for leaving them here.

littlebarefeetblog.com

The Brother Girls.[final edit]

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You’ll find us, easily.  We stand out, in a crowd, even when we’re sitting down.

We’re the girls who are seen out with one guy, who isn’t our boyfriend, for dinner.

Or, drinks. Or, in meetings. Or, in church. Or, at the concert, or the game, or wherever people spend any time at all together.

We’re the lone ladies who come from a family of boys. We’re the Brother Girls.

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I grew up in a brother “sandwich”: one older; one younger. They were quite far apart in age, but the younger was born only two years after me and, because our family was poor without realizing it (thanks to Mum), my little brother and I shared a bedroom until I was 10 years old.

Yes. We talked in the dark, across the room. We heard each other’s secrets, longings, and troubles – just like two sisters. (This, I found out from my girl cousins, a couple of whom lived around the corner and across the street.)

He and I would observe our elder brother, from the distance of age and experience, his activities and escapades filling us with wonder and admiration. I became aware of my little brother’s feelings toward our elder brother, and how they differed from those of my own as sister to each of them.

I learned the art of the boy.

But, as we grew, and encountered puberty, what made us distinct became both more apparent and less amenable to such closeness in proximity. Nevertheless, our emotional dynamics, and the patterns which would shape them, would be set forever.

I believe that women who grow up surrounded only by brothers have a perspective on human relationship specific to the needs of the opposite sex which may elude families of sisters. To many girls, their fathers are their model for the role men will play in their lives; to those with brothers, the models are as varied as the number of boys in the house.

Furthermore, in the absence of other girls, the sister to brothers has a relationship with their mother which is distinguishable from that of the brothers with the same mother. More on that, in a bit.

Brother Girls. We are, first and foremost, comfortable around men. We relax when they enter the room. Generally, they make us feel “at home.” We tend to treat them as familiar to us, even when we haven’t been formally introduced. To others, women with sisters, men without sisters, this behavior might seem forward, or driven by a need to dominate. It isn’t; it’s just our habit.

Men without sisters, for whom girls have played a more distant role ( not having been a part of their family’s ethos) prefer to idolize women. They place a set of expectations upon them, based in the model of their mothers, which are often subjected to disillusion. But, women who crave feeling special, in this way, perhaps due to neglect or trauma, seem nearly perfect for such men.

A brother girl, however, may squirm under the gaze of adoration. Such body language may even provoke from us an amused chuckle. We are far too wise about ourselves, and them, to buy into this brand of fawning. Burping and farting are far more easily tolerated than milky eyeballing and flattery.

(Important to include, here, would be those whose mothers have had a negative affect on men’s lives. In this case, and sadly, misogyny rules the roost.)

Brothers who had one sister may always need to be close to women. Additionally, upon marrying they may confuse the role of wife with that of mother, and continue to seek out the company of other women in search of their newly absent sister.

Why?

The lone sister plays the role of confidante in the lives of her brothers. She learns that their needs are both deep, sometimes confounding, and often persistently unmet. In turn, she learns that mutual revelations are bonding, and is more than ready to forge these. I will not reveal in this forum what I have both been told by my brothers, nor what I have disclosed to them, but I can say that no topic has either been off limits or alarming. It’s as if the brother and sister can confront anything, and that fearlessly.

Now, girls with sisters who are reading this piece might be reaching peak saturation annoyance. They may be thinking: “I have the very same relationship with my sister as you do with your brother.”   Right. Of course. Who’s arguing?

I might. I might suggest that, while similar, they are not parallel. Men and women, countless studies keep implying, do not think the same way. They view neither themselves nor the world identically, either. After all, society’s constructs dictate much of their response, and the history of gender bias in the workplace speaks for itself. No. Brothers need sisters not only to make sense of their feelings; they need them to make sense of their role in the lives of women.

In truth, every permutation of gender in any family dynamic has its pros and cons. In addition, the role of negative and positive influence cannot be ignored. But, I offer this piece from an informed perspective; how I view men is directly the result of my experience with those who lived in my family.

But, what of girls without brothers? Here, I can only speculate. Perhaps a lone girl without a brother forever subjects herself to men, either with joy due to having had a loving father, or with reluctance and fear for the opposite reason. However, in families of many sisters, the league of women may rise and overtake the father’s role, leading to future relationships between such sisters and their husbands marked by female domination of such total affect so as to render the men, at least at home, virtually subservient. I know this, because my mother was one of four sisters.

Now, I would be remiss were I to end this piece without addressing the dynamic between brother girls and other women.

Sister siblings, and brother girls, in the spirit of compatibility, are the least congruous. They have completely different views of men, and play equally distinct roles in the lives of men. Furthermore, because of their blind spot with regard to relating to each other’s experience, they tend to judge one another – and, somewhat harshly.

Brother girls tend to view sister siblings’ relationships with men as immature, lacking in insight or empathy. And, sister women likely see brother girls as a threat to the security of their own culture of female dominance. To them, brother girls don’t care enough about people, or children, nor do they possess any social finesse. And, the fact that their husbands disagree with them about such women is a source of contention and strife.

It may be true that brother girls appear to care more about men than women. But, this may be nourished by a cocktail of familiarity and experience; we are, after all, what we know and, increasingly, who we know. I, for one, have had a lifelong problem trusting women; yet, perhaps it is only sister siblings to whom I am reacting in this way.

I do know that I adore men, men of every type and persuasion. From the vantage point within my brother sandwich, I learned to value their dry wit, fierce intellect, brute strength, and inventive resourcefulness. From my father, I learned to desire creative genius and musical gift. And, from our mother, I learned that a woman should never be either subject or ruler.

So, brother girls, unite; we are, after all, in league with the canines. We are man’s best friend.

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© Ruth Ann Scanzillo  10/27/16    *inspired by Margaret Andraso, who takes credit for the title. All other rights those of the author, whose story it is, and whose name appears above these two lines.  Thank you, boys.  ❤

littlebarefeetblog.com

The Anesthesiologist.

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Bow tie underneath a grin

Peeking out as he looks in

To greet the body

Waiting for

His recipe for making sleep.

The anesthesiologist

Keeps a special, secret list

Of pills to feed the

Patient who,

Hallucinating mucous plugs

Devouring microscopic bugs,

Decides

that he is just a cr…….

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from “Bad Poems About People”, Volume I. (pre-publishing.)

© Ruth Ann Scanzillo    10/23/16      All rights for lame poetry those of the author, whose name appears above this line.  Thank you for the disregard.

littlebarefeetblog.com