Nobody listens

Did you ever try to tell somebody something and they refuse to get it? Pasquale of course doesn’t get it either and continues to split his internal ductwork while forcing opinions where they will not be received. He is right after all and wants the world to know it. One of these days we are going to get some duct tape.

He is not so wrong though and let us hope he forgets to read that. After all who among us does not become highly insulted at those who have the colossal unmitigated audacity to question our expertise? They challenge us with stupid comments regarding how do we know this or that, where did we hear it, and the big one where they tell us we are so full of it our eyes are brown. People see their own truth as the only verity. They are so annoying.

This writer exemplifies an incident on a Sunday afternoon. A trip to the home of grandparents brought the usual men out someplace and women home with kids and food preparation. With nothing better to do and no trouble to get into for the moment, we followed Nana outside and watched as she stalked dinner. She caught her prey and with a quick movement of both hands twisted its neck. No worms would die by that beak that day. We little innocents were not traumatized. Nor did we grow up to become psychotic poultry bashers. It was natural then to grow your own food and if it had two legs, well....

“I did not wring the chicken’s neck,” came her voice over the phone four decades later. “That was Benio’s job. I never ever killed the chickens. No.”

Okay Nana. We do not argue with the nonagenarian family matriarch. Not if we’re Italian and she is within earshot. Even though we have always had accurate memory, especially for what the grownups did when they thought we were elsewhere. Other than knowing we are right and cannot convince anyone, memory is apparently as useless as its vocal application. Theirs of course is flawless.

Nobody cares anyway. For all we know today, chicken comes all cut up and packaged in all its – gasp! – naked splendour into a little white package and covered with plastic.

This article is written by or on behalf of an outsourced columnist and does not necessarily reflect the views of Castanet.