Nasty Words

Pardon me for being vulgar in my previous blog.

"You used nasty words and it was not a good thing to do," said The Man.
He told me that I should think of my mother and my grandmothers.
What would they say about my use of crude language? (Mom, you don't
have to respond. I already know the answer.)

So, I've had a re-think and now I'm ashamed of myself for giving into the
sloppiness and baseness that has become de rigeur in our society.

Think about it, old people out there. Remember when we had manners?
Remember when men and women dressed as best as they could when they
went to the store or even to sporting events? You've seen the old film footage of
people in the stands at some baseball game and everybody's dressed in their
Sunday best, women in dresses with hats and gloves, men in suits and hats.
They look so refined.

It's hard to believe isn't it? But, I remember it well. I remember my Dad
taking me to Dodger stadium for an afternoon game, just the two of us. We
got seats about ten rows above first base. I wore my best pink dress and polished
white saddle shoes. We sat in the sun and watched Sandy Koufax throw zingers.

My Dad, an ex-Triple A player and current little league umpire, was there to have
a good time and I soon learned that for him the fun involved yelling at the first
base umpire, telling him he was blind, that he'd sure blown that call, and making
inquiries as to where in the world he'd learned to call a game.

I sat there carefully eating my frozen, chocolate malt, a delicacy, making sure
nothing dripped off the flat, wooden spoon. As my Dad yelled, my attention
was drawn from my malt to the people who were turning around looking to
see who was making such a racket. They'd smile and shake their heads. I slid
down in my seat. I was mortified. My Dad was yelling and people were looking.
We were becoming a spectacle! Horror of horrors!

By the third inning the umpire started getting annoyed. He looked up a few
times to see who the heck was giving him such a hard time, much to my father's
sheer delight. He was gleefully berating this guy, releasing his life's frustrations.

Finally, after a close and "lousy call," my Dad really let loose. He called the guy
an idiot and said he shouldn't be allowed to officiate a game. That's when the
umpire had had enough. He turned around, put his hands on his hips and glared
up, right at my Dad. He was about to say something when my Dad yelled out:
"What are you lookin' at me for? You keep your eye on the ball!"

I'll never forget those words. They're embedded in the innermost fabric of my brain.

People laughed. I was embarrassed to the point of inability to swallow my malt and
started choking.

But the point I wanted to make is that through the whole thing no one ever yelled
an obscenity. The language wasn't vulgar. It was descriptive and innovative.

Anyway, that's what I am going to strive for now as I return to Rome where I am
and where I should be writing about but amn't because I got distracted and nasty.

So, sorry. Ciao.