Monday, August 15, 2016

Beware of the Handshake, That Hides the Snake

This soup was so refreshing and green.  It really bursts with the vibrancy of dill and summer.  I'm writing this at the end of November in what I notice is a trend.  Backdated posts from summer getting dealt with on cold dark rainy mornings months later.

I was thinking about liars today and just how twisty people can get.  Trump is such an interesting liar to study as he seems to be an exaggerated version of the normal sized asshole.  A prick of ridiculous girth. Yesterday I was reading where he is trying to mold reality by throwing down his own math logic.  He claims that he actually won the popular vote if you subtract the millions of people who voted illegally.  An allegation that is unprecedented and he backs with no facts.

That immediately reminded me of my very first introduction to truth shifting.  I was in 3rd grade and attending my hometown, neighborhood Catholic school.  All of us kids pretty much knew each other.  The classes were fairly small back then and most everyone had an older brother or sister, so families were familiar.  Not many newcomers but when there were, it was a big deal.  This year, The White family came to town.  Very interesting group.  Seemed like there were 7 or 8 of them.  Boys and girls of assorted sizes and all white haired blondes.  The oldest girl took all the boys by storm.  She never wore a real coat even in the bitter cold mornings.  She'd always appear late for the bus like walking off a commercial set.  Everyone's eyes fixed on her arrival. Combing her thin blonde hair and looking fabulous, tucking the comb in the back pocket of her tight blue jeans. She seemed to walk in slow motion.  Some said they were so poor she couldn't afford a coat.  She was genius then I thought, what a way to deflect your economical situation by wearing midriff tops and standing proud.  She had a body that the other girls were not gifted with yet and apparently a willingness to teach the local boys how to kiss in closets on the weekends.  She liked to stand on the bus. One day she stood by me and I studied her sturdy wrist and milky forearm with its fine white hairs.  She was like a young Marilyn Monroe.
But my nemesis would be her little sister, who's name now escapes me.  I'll call her Becky. I had very bad feelings from minute one with this girl.  She came in with a motive.  That year seemed to take a huge left turn the minute that family came to town.  I had a secure and growing bestieship with Ann that I cultivated and nurtured for 3 whole years.  She thought I was funny and I adored her too.  We were inseparable and would remain that way for many years to come.  But that year, Becky had ideas to take Ann as her very own.  It was very clear I was not to be part of this new union.  Clear to me but cloaked in fake niceness only around Ann.  The smile would drop instantly when out of vision.  Becky did everything she could to alienate me from my pal.  We were so young and I wasn't quite clear on all these new social weapons.  It bothered me deeply.  I started to doubt my foundation.  One day everything was strong and then it seemed to crumble overnight.  I had no idea how Ann could just abandon me so quickly.  They started to sit with each other on the bus, eat lunch together, hang out on the playground at recess.  I was definitely on the outs.
I tried to blame Ann but clearly she was swept off her feet by this adoring little twit that knew nothing about her by the way!  Anyone could see the insincerity if they could just view if from the back of the bus, like me.
Well one day Becky didn't show up for school and the days turned into a full week.  I had my chance to snatch back what was rightfully mine.  And I did.  It was a glorious five days of palsies.  Then, Becky returned to school with a vengeance.  Rumor spread very quickly that she had head lice.  Horrible thing, for a kid.  It fed into the stories of their home life and living conditions.  We were all poor (except Ann) but there were levels and the Whites were what they were calling 'trash' around school.  I never understood it back then but I figured it must have something to do with being slutty and poor at the same time.
But Becky came with experience.  This was not her first rodeo.  I believe they moved around a lot.  It must have been difficult changing schools around the Midwest so much back then.  Coming in to a place where everyone is so settled like sand at the bottom of a lake.  Something about me being content, sent her into a rage.   In fact she seemed so very bothered by any happiness I expressed that it often slapped the smile right off my face if I caught her stare.   Upon her return, to deflect her own growing bad press, she came up with a story to say yes, she did in fact have head lice. Wow, super brave I thought.  And then she went on.  Her doctor told her that she had been infested by a.... and I'm dead serious.....a Spic.  Yes, a real live doctor had told her it was indeed a female mind you Spic that was the real origin of this nastier than gross head condition.  I believe she included 'from her class'.  And just like that Becky became the victim.  Innocent and almost worthy of sympathy.  She Trumped me.  I stood silent and in total disbelief and astonishment for what seemed like the rest of the day alone in that school hallway.   My memory curtain closed until many months later.  To my recollection all of my class turned against me but my focus was Ann and she was wavering hard.  I could tell in the deepest part of her 9 year old heart, she probably didn't buy any of this but group pressure was too strong and she buckled.  The fact that I didn't even or ever have lice didn't occur to anyone.  For weeks no one came too close to me, now branded the girl with head lice.  And we all learned a new word. Spic.
I was mortified.  I broke down and went home and told my mom all the happenings, knowing she would have the right words.  She would fix this shit but good, really mom this son of bitch for me.  And you know what she told me?  'Well, that's interesting because if she knew anything about anything, a spic is a Puerto Rican, not a Mexican".   And then my mom and dad went into deep conversation, their voices slowly drifting off in my mind.  They preceded to take all the immigrant races and stack them like Jango in their civil pecking order, arguing who was worse.   Wait. What?  This was my ammunition?!  I was so turned around by her answer.  But she was so strong and satisfied with her delivery, apparently most insulted by the racial flub that she missed the whole dern nightmare point that I was socially murdered.  But my mom is like a wise Indian sage. I didn't question her advice.  She had spoken.  So I took her words to bed with me that night and begged God to take me as I often did, in my sleep.
I don't remember when but fairly soon after, the lice story died down and the White family moved on.  I think any thinking kid in school knew it wasn't me and the ones that did were now duly noted in my mind forever.  Ann and I regained our Bestie status and life became normal again.  But I would be changed. I had been to war.  I had my first battle decoration.  The world had become socially complex.

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