WordSisters

  • Sometimes

    Elizabeth di Grazia's avatar

    Elizabeth di Grazia

    “She’s staring again,” Juan Jose’ remarked to Crystel on Tuesday. The three of us were dining at Pizza Luce. The 19-year-olds sat across from me. I was looking past them, merely looking, not staring at all, at the people coming in the door, the servers rushing into the kitchen, dodging for silverware, the water pitcher, the food that was ordered.

    Crystel shook her head back and forth, “She always does that, you know that.”

    It could be a girl Crystel’s age that will pull me back to the horror of being raped. A toddler sitting on my lap, dozing, her limbs a rag doll. Trusting. Safe. No worries. What would she have to worry about? She’s 2 years old. At 4, adorned in colorful scarves, beads, and unmatched socks. A Jasmine Princess at 5. Loving Johnny Depp at 8. Being the first to jump in the pool, the first to ride her bike, the first…

    “I’m writing stories,” I say in my defense.

    I’m studying people. Their familial relationships. Body language. Emotional state. Piercings. Tattoos. Eye contact.

    That morning I studied a photo of a 10-year-old Wisconsin girl. She had long brown hair, parted in the middle, smiling eyes, smooth face. She looked happy.

    I pictured the 14-year-old who raped and killed her. How much bigger he would have been than her. His height, weight, and strength. My stomach tightened.

    I was her.

    8 years old
    8 years old.

    The young girl with a smooth face. Smiling.

    I was no match for a 14-year-old.

    My four older siblings just kept getting older. And I would always be the younger.

    The running track already set. An oval that I would run round and round.

    Never getting away.

    I asked for help when I was 9. I was afraid. They were bigger. I needed help.

    None was forthcoming. I became that 10-year-old. Only I didn’t die.

    It lives within me. The assaults. The rapes.

    The watching of others.

    , ,

    One response to “Sometimes”

    1. Bev Bachel Avatar
      Bev Bachel

      A powerful post that brought tears to my eyes.

  • Wishing and Hoping

    cmkraack's avatar

    cmkraack

    We know better. Outdoor party plans don’t guarantee sunshine and soft breezes. We can hope for the best, but best be prepared for rain and thunder. We can wish that just this one time, the weather gods will spin the right number so our guests can enjoy walking and talking in the gardens.

Feels like wishing and hoping might be what’s left as what regular people can do about more and more truly large decisions or actions that impact their lives. With masks and vaccinations, many hope to escape sneaky Covid variations.  Powerful men chose to scrape other people from the face of the earth although everyone hoped the threat was just that. Partisan hatred locks decision making amidst the people we elected hoping they might work together. They tie up the executive branch where folks are wishing things would start improving. Then what was once the most solemn of our nation’s institutions spits out a hateful decision on all those who hoped the laws of the land would be upheld or wished for a miracle from the stacked bench.

Sure seems like miracles have followed the Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus to fantasy land. Appeals for contributions to protect the environment, protect freedom of speech, protect women’s health, or many other threatened values mostly keep people employed in the gigantic rat race called the great democratic experiment with no guarantee of positive results. 

So many groups stand outside, disenchanted and disenfranchised, hoping for a sunny day in Washington, D.C. when the politicians and policy makers might come out of their buildings, shake off whatever protects them from the stuff normal folks deal with and breathe in some real air. 

I’m wishing they would come live with regular people for a couple of months, sit in a public school classroom for a full day, plan two weeks of meals before grocery shopping on a budget, deal with the endless impersonal bureaucracy everywhere from making a doctor appointment to asking about a bill. That’s just a start. And hope they could walk city streets safely among those tired of disappointment in government and feel the strength and anger of their action. 

Not hoping for daily sunshine and soft breezes or wishing for more than our fair share. Just reminding those who govern that it is at the will of the people who expect some respect for what we hold as truth.

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  • When it Comes to Your Age, Do You Share?

    bevbachel's avatar

    bevbachel

    I’m a few months shy of 65, and yes, I find that nearly impossible to believe—and sometimes difficult to share.

    Divulging one’s age is definitely a personal decision. I respect that, and so do most women I know.

    My friend Maery, who coincidentally turns 65 today, not only willingly shares her age, she dares people to make a joke or a derogatory comment. 

    Others I know are more sensitive about sharing. One reason is because they fear age-related discrimination. That’s the situation of another friend who, unlike me, spent most of her 30s and 40s as a stay-at-home mom focused on her family.

    Now, eager to complete her PhD and advance in her career, she recently declined being nominated for the Minnesota 50 Over 50, an AARP Minnesota awards program that honors Minnesotans over the age of 50 who are doing amazing things in one of five categories: arts, business, community, nonprofit and disruptor.

    Two other women I know declined to be nominated as well because they, too, didn’t want to call attention their age. One felt doing so would diminish her accomplishments, another thought doing so might jeopardize her job hunt.

    The male colleague who asked them if he could nominate them described the experience as awkward and uncomfortable. He went on to say that he would never feel uncomfortable asking a man about his age. And he doubts a man would ever decline being nominated because of his age.  

    What do you think? Do you own your age or are you sensitive about revealing it? If so, why? Do you see a difference between how men and women view age and their willingness to talk about it? What can we, individually or as a society, do to help ourselves and others openly claim—and share—our age? 

    Share your thoughts. 

    3 responses to “When it Comes to Your Age, Do You Share? ”

    1. Ellen Shriner Avatar
      Ellen Shriner

      Great topic! Thanks for writing about it.

      I think naming your age can be a real dilemma because so many people make negative assumptions about older people. I don’t know if it’s worse for older women than for men, but I know the world is often disrespectful and dismissive of older women. When I met new people after I retired at 61, and they asked what I did, I always said I was a writer instead of saying I was retired. It was true, but I didn’t want to deal with people’s weird assumptions about retired people. After I turned 65, I began owning ‘retired’. And now at 67, I’m usually fine with giving my age. However, I can imagine a circumstance in which I might push back and ask why the person needs to know my age.

      I sympathize with your friends’ reaction to being nominated for the 50 over 50 honor, especially the job-seeker. Age discrimination in the workplace is real.

    2. wrytr Avatar
      wrytr

      I have come to think of chronological age as a level we’ve attained, so yes, I own my age and am proudly anticipating the attainment of Level 60 in two weeks. (Now to figure out the cheat code to grab a few extra lives!) But I understand the reluctance to subject oneself to the “Over 50” label. That’s like someone saying, “Wow, you look great—FOR YOUR AGE,” a backhanded compliment at best. Why would AARP still be using such labels when clearly they contribute to ageism? Instead of lamenting that the best players don’t want to join their all-star team, why don’t they eliminate the barriers to participation and focus on other aspects of the accomplishments they want to celebrate?

    3. Eliza Waters Avatar
      Eliza Waters

      Shifts in culture can occur and while awareness of gender and age discrimination are growing, it may be a while before the world catches up. Personally, I’ve always been honest about my age. I’m rather proud of my personal growth and every gray hair on my head… I’ve earned every one!

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