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June 25, 2003 There are so many colorful regional expressions in the South. Like:It ain't no fun when the rabbit's got the gun! And: Get in where you fit in! And: Tell the truth and shame the devil. When I was a child, my Dad and I would play this language game: we would see who could be the most inventive in making up curses in English without using any vulgarities or blasphemies. Yiddish was rich in these kinds of terrible things to say. They were not readily understandable even if they were funny. Like: You should grow like an onion in the ground. That one was really bad! I guess you had to imagine it. I never grew up with the devil. I only met him here in Florida. And he told me all too often to get in where I fit in. After eight years here, I am sure that it is only in a very small circle that I will be comfortable even though I have learned to say "yes,m'am, thank you, m'am" and so on. It's always the little things that are the measure. A look. A word. A sound. A gesture. I have been feeling lately that I simply don't fit in and that is that. I have been teaching anatomy & physiology and massage at a privately run beauty school for three years now. I have the utmost respect for my director. She is one of the few people who say what they mean and mean what they say. She is also one of the very rare who actually practices her religion. She is always there for everyone with whatever they need to assist them and uplift them. Of all the owners, I have spoken with her the most. My students seem satisfied. At least there have not been any complaints. I am happy there, yet... I am not really part of the faculty socials. I haven't been included in any holiday anything or baby shower or the like. I feel as if I am intruding when there is conversation. It's not that anyone is outright rude. They look at me with a smile when we do have any exchange. And yet... The other day we were all talking about certifications and renewals. I must admit that I am not involved in the business aspect of the whole process. In any event, one of the directors, a woman of substance, said what was to me a funny word and I picked up on it. Before anything could be done, the child in me repeated this funny word. She flashed me a look. Holy s ! as Frank would say on Everybody Loves Raymond. I touched a nerve. I wasn't being disrespectful or pointing out a mistake. That enfant terrible popped out and did mischief. Always looking for new words and funny expressions. Still playing those word games with Dad. Not just those curse games. All those love of word games. Now I'd done it. Hurt someone's feelings. Appeard to have put them down. Criticized them. Made them feel inferior. Well, guess what? If there wasn't that great wall of prejudice between us, you would have not reacted like I had slapped you in the face. You are still looking at me as a freak. Some little rich Jewish girl who got lost in the wrong neighorhood. Reflecting on it, she was probably right about one thing: a freaky Jewish girl who must have gotten lost in the wrong neighborhood. But my parents weren't rich and they didn't give me everything. They did give me a great foundation. I loved Hebrew school and the rabbi. I had that great work ethic instilled early. I learned to sew and knit and practically all my clothes, except shoes and underwear, were self-made. I started work in the local A&P's meat department at the age of 16 to save for college. I think you get the picture. Clearly, I don't fit the generally accepted ethnic profile. There definitely must be something wrong with me. I can tell sometimes if I get to school early, a nail client who has never seen me before will see my face before she sees my uniform. I love my uniform. I live in it. I serve everyone, uniformly. It helps everyone move forward. And yet... Yes, there must be somehting wrong. My mother used to always check. My nose/too ethnic. My knees/too boney. My posterior/too flat. My thoughts/too... I don't think she could find words to describe her frustration over the task of curbing my imagination. Oh, Harry Potter! You have touched so many that even for picking up accidentally discarded pages of the latest edition and selling them, a man was arrested! Yes, arrested! I know it was on the news. The though police! Fitting in, the concept itself looks impossible. ------------ About the author: Risa Roberts' poems have recently been published in a table top edition of the International Library of Poety called "Letters from the Soul", as well as received Judge's recognition in an anthology by FamousPoets.com. She graduated Douglass College, Rutgers University, New Brunswick, NJ in 1970. She worked and traveled in the Far East and the Middle East. For the past eight years, South Florida has been her home. Risa is a Licensed Massage Therapist as well as active in the art community of Broward County. Email Risa: risa008@yahoo.com Comment on this column in the forum. ------------ |
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