How does your Auntie think of Sunday’s election results ? Odds are: not like you 😉
It was The Lord’s Day. My father, drunk & still drinking whisky, drove me & my two younger sisters back to our mom’s house in his beat-up, tempermental, used petrol blue Camaro.
From the passenger seat, your Auntie drifted in & out of oblivion by focusing on how rows of corn passed … harmoniously, surely … fingers surfing a sea of air … allowing nothing but wind & music to enter & fill her soul.
The first memory I have of the police officer who noticed us swerving & determined my dad – once again – too drunk to drive, is him resting both hands on the driver’s side windowsill. His gunned a** cocked into the air. Bending down & talking slowly so the Little Miss would understand. Drawling past my dad at me:
„Ma’am, you’re gonna hafta drive your family home. If you don’t, I’ll hafta take your husband ta jail.“
My father & my sisters stared wide-eyed & quietly at me. So did the cop.
It took me a moment … perhaps your Auntie’s first pause for dramatic effect … but „OK“ was all I said.
I got out of the passenger seat & exchanged places with my father in the driver’s seat. I readjusted the mirrors (I recall my stunned & scared sisters‘ faces reflecting in what was now my rearview mirror).
My father, the Lebowski of Lost Souls, slid into the passenger seat & advised: „Driving is just like playing pool; it’s all about angles [Your Auntie thought, „I can do this … „] … & remember“, as he lifted his glass of Seagram’s into the air & grinned a finally-at-peace Cheshire grin, „there’s a beverage here.“
And, just like that, this Secundo in America’s Heartland … a second generation immigrant trying to live in Amish Country … committed several crimes. Felonies.
And learned to drive. I was 11 years old.
Thank you, most of Switzerland.
I want to bathe you in tangy nectar produced from sweet & welcoming nether-regions. Or France.
Encourage ribald nymphs to kiss fears into pillows of glee from which your worse nightmares would choke, gasp, turn blue & never survive.
I want swim in your joy; your triumph & praise. I want to scream into the wild, wooly night that you – you kind-hearted, magnificent souls – you did it: Darkness: Overcome !! Good: Won !!! Beers & Bretzels: for All !!! Huzzah !!!
And when you collapse in exhausted, well-earned elation, I want to welcome your most tender parts & let them swim blissfully in my pools of buoyancy & joy …
But I won’t.
The first victory – while sweet – only shows your enemy what you’ve got.
Since living in Switzerland, your Auntie has committed several more crimes. Some of the heart. Some legal. Some moral. & the rest: mostly social.
Very few were meant to be naughty. I’d claim none were … but some days your dear Auntie gets bored 😉
And, also, when constantly told you are an outsider — not welcomed; you don’t belong — humans tend to believe it. All of Us tend to accept that as True.
And then reject the society — & its rules — which rejected us.
In America’s Amish Country, family roots run so deep they can be followed here.
The sins of my father fell upon me. And your Auntie quickly learned how to live outside the norm.
It takes time & error to learn how to live in a foreign land. Even the best among us falter. But even our worst rarely come from a place of malice … Pain: yes. Terror: absolutely. Desperation: fundamentally. Hope: usually swimming in the abyss of all else, us Lucky Souls find this.
The thing my father never found. The thing all Humans need.
XO
AS
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