Matha, Fathafaka
by Albert Russo
In Timothy - that’s in
the New Testament - I read a passage called
‘Recommendations to Women’, which
nearly made me go off my rocker, I was so mad.
‘Women should be
dressed modestly and chastely - denims didn’t
exist yet -. They should listen to their fathers,
their uncles and their brothers and obey them
with downcast eyes—so that goons like Firmin
can continue to swap partners without any shame!
-. They shall not have the right to teach or
order men around. In silence and meditation, they
shall always live.’
But here comes the worst,
Adam was not the culprick, but ‘Eve,
who had let herself be seduced by him and who
thus became guilty of transgression’.
I wouldn’t dare show
this to my mother, she would toss Unky Berky’s
Bible, or what’s left of it straight into
the fireplace, among the burning logs.
I hair-assed him (not
setchually, I insist, coz you ninnies
have twisted minds, I know) to give me some
information concerning my father, since my mom
refused to oblige (you can’t force grrrowlups,
if they don’t want to) on account that she
went through hell and high water during the short
time they stayed together. She said we’re
better off to let lying dogs sleep, though I have
an inkling he’s wide awake.
Now, here, my mother has
missed a fonda-mental point sfar
as I am concerned - even if she never was a fonda-mentalist
at heart, but a staunch felinist -: my
Goddess-given right to know where that father of
mine is hiding, after his escape into the jungles
of Brazil.
I have no intention of
letting no lying dog sleep—though everyone
needs a rest once in a while - and I shall do
everything I can to fish him out from wherever he
is, so’s to face his big daughter (which he
dumped, by the way, when I was a baby), even if
it means that I have to drag him to Court. I’ll
wait a little, so’s to get the benefit of
his doubts.
That my mom should consider
him only as an ex, without putting herself in my
tight little sandals, drives me bananas. This is
so typical of adults. They consider us as
negligible non-edibles (to say ‘entities’
makes me feel cheesy-queasy), as if we always
took our wishes for pipedreams, with the excuse
that our personality hasn’t been shaped yet.
How old must one get to start enjoying the fruits
of democracy? - my favorites, by the way, are
mangoes and papayas, then avocados, then pinapple,
even if these come from banana republics where
the only freedom people have is to shut the fook
up, if they don’t wish to disappear
incognito - that must be a human type of mosquito
- with the probability of being dumped in
alligator-infested rivers.
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