A very long time ago, when I was a pre-teen (yes, it WAS the Dark Ages), I felt sorry for my little sister. She was what they called THEN "slow" or that dreaded "R" word. But God help the person that used that word when referencing my little sister! She was all heart, she was able to find beauty in the ugliest of things, and most of all, the things people said to her, she never seemed to understand. She would just put that silly smile on her face, then continue with whatever project she was working on. Someone might say to her "Hey Retard, you are an idiot, aren't you?" And she would just look at the speaker and smile and say "Well God makes all kinds." It rarely seemed to bother her, but when something DID hurt her feelings, huge tears would form in her big blue eyes (all magnified by those thick glasses she wore). Seeing those tears ripped my heart out. I don't remember even one time she used profanity, I don't remember her ever getting angry...she seemed to always be loving and kind...and she never seemed to see the ugliness in the world.
After she was killed, and I realized how empty my life was without her, after I realized how I had just always assumed that she would always be a part of my life...I replayed moments we had shared, I remembered the horrors we had managed to survive together...I may have saved her life physically...but she saved my life emotionally. I NEEDED her! I needed her to help me NOT SEE the ugliness outside our door, she needed me to PROTECT her from what I saw.
I think now that she was lucky. She didn't seem to understand the hateful sarcasm people said to her. And unless the comment was especially rude and she was forced by the perpetrator to acknowledge the hate speech, or unless I was feeling especially "froggy" I would ignore it like she did. But, God knows, most of the kids at school knew that I was a volatile young person, and I didn't hesitate in protecting my sister if I felt she needed it.
Over the years, my anger has abated...i think the last time I lost my temper was back in 1983 or 84. I've tried my best to be more like my sister, to let hateful comments pass without comment. I now wonder if my sister truly didn't understand what people were saying...or if she just had more self control than I did. Maybe ignorance IS bliss!
When Twitter was first introduced, my geeky son said "mom, you GOTTA try this!" Then, acting just like my dad would have, I said "well, I refuse to be a Twit!" That refusal stayed intact until this stupid trial. It seemed that to NOT know the gossip, was just too unbearable! I guess I expected something different from Twitter than it is. Twitter is defined by its users. And from my limited experience, it's like walking the streets of South Central with the word NERD tattooed on your forehead, and hundred dollar bills falling out of your pocket! You are going to get mugged!
Those same kids who picked on my sister now live on Twitter. Although they proclaim to be married, have children and have jobs...it's beyond me how if all (or even some) of those things occupy their time, how do they manage to spend all that time on Twitter? My "child" is over 40 now, but when he was young, the attention HE NEEDED far surpassed any other activities I wanted to do! I'm retired now, I have very few social obligations, so I'm able to spend an hour or two online...but, even at that, the house needs to be cleaned, groceries purchased, attending doctor appointments are required. Maybe I have poor time management skills!
At first, I just lurked, reading what other people wrote...then, I would re-tweet something I agreed with. It was not long after that the personal attacks began. At first I thought “ignore them”, they will either grow up, move or graduate from middle school. Then, I thought “stand up for yourself”…but I've discovered that making any comment is just like picking at that grotesque pimple in the middle of your forehead, it only makes it bigger, redder and more disgusting…so, I’ve just decided that I don’t need to visit that barrio called Twitville! I've also discovered that even staying off Twitter doesn't stop the harassment. After withdrawing from Twitter, ugly comments began showing up here, and even uglier statements were written in "Parody" blogs.
I don't understand WHY! What have I ever done to deserve this vitroil? What have I done to earn threats to my husband's livelihood? I'm a size 8...can someone tell me exactly WHY an elderly woman who is still a size 8 deserves to be called a COW, and earn #MooMoo?
While I am at it…I will clear up one more misconception! Racism in our country is not new. When the Irish arrived, they were discriminated against, as were the Italians, Swedes, Swiss, etc. My roots are, at least in part, from the Pennsylvania Dutch, who weren’t from the Netherlands, but Germany. Deutche mispronounced by Americans came out "Dutch”. When the Pennsylvania Dutch worked their way west! into the territories, they too, were discriminated against. And the phrase “drunk as a Dutchman” came into usage. My grandfather used that phrase a lot with toddlers just learning to walk that came into the house. He’d say “Look at him go! Drunk as a Dutchman!” Perhaps an odd phrase for a family that NEVER consumed spirits!
There were a few years, when I was in my 30’s, newly released from all family ties through the deaths of my dad, sister, and her son and then both of my grandparents, where I tested the strength of “spirits”, but most of my life, I’ve been a non-drinker. I'm STILL a non-drinker due to the many medications for ne inevitably takes after reaching age 60, and your stuffing begins to leak out of your seams!
In the past 10 years, as my physical health has diminished, and I’ve lost my eyesight due to a hereditary disease and cataracts, I find that I stumble along, and I'm reminded of my grandfather's phrase "drunk as a Dutchman"
Eight years ago, when I moved in with my DH, he teased that I wasnt a very good “hausfrau”…and truly, I’m not. But, my husband still uses "my little hausfrau" when he teases me! Now, perhaps, with the cataract/corneal replacement surgery I had almost 3 weeks ago, my hausfrau skills will improve! I’m beginning to see more and more of what I hadn’t seen before! There are fingerprints on everything…and the grout between the tiles ISNT tan, it’s DIRT…and I have to wonder how we are able to breathe at all with all that dust and dirt on the fan that seems to run 24 hours of every day…I’ll have to contract a housekeeper after I get the house clean enough for the housekeeper to get into the door and not run away in fright!
So, as I began playing with words and phrases to determine what I was going to call this blog, and attempting to define what I was going to write about…the phrase “drunk as a Dutchman” came to mind...then I wondered how I would change that to the female gender, but Drunk housewife didn't sound right, so I ended up with DrunkenHausfrau.
While I understand that we ALL seem to think the world revolves ONLY around US…should anyone suspect that I chose that name ONLY to make fun of them or embarrass them in any way, they should realize that is incorrect assumption. I KNOW it is easy to personalize things like this, but, imaginations are in overdrive due to all the backbiting that has recently occurred in Twitland.
So, “gentle reader”, I have sworn ever visiting Twitville again…as far as I am concerned, it belongs to ALL of you….and after you all cannabilize one another, please stay off of my blog. I do not want or need the hateful comments you bring!
My family and friends and I are busily living our lives. In the past few months, we've been saying goodbye to loved ones that are sick, or who have passed, I've had to attend funerals, some of us have gone on vacation or have home; we are welcoming Spring; enjoying retirement; having surgeries; and loving our children and spouses.
Your derisive comments are not welcome here…either go back to Twitville, or start your own blog. We have no room for whatever you offer, we have no comments to add to your blogs and twits. We are all old enough to know that talking to a wall or trying to teach a pig to sing doesn’t work. The wall won’t move, and both the pig and teacher end up frustrated.
So…off you go! Buh-bye…have a good life!
Gramma used to say: “Be smart, listen to your elders; they didn’t get old by being stupid.”
