Friday, June 25, 2010

The Maloiks or The Day I Killed Gil


06/24/2010

Monday, June 14, 2010

My Readers Comments on "South Phillyisms:" It's all about love

I heard from a lot of my South Philly readers after posting "South Phillyisms."One of the most common comments dealt with the way mothers called their children "Mommy." And Grandmas called their grandchildren "Grandmom."

Example: A child has a fever. Her mother says, "You don't feel good, mommy." Or a grandmother says to her grandson, "C'mere grandmom, give me a kiss." It's a special, dear, unique way of bonding. In one word it communicates our heritage and demonstrates how closely we identify with our loved ones.  It says "I am you. You are everything to me."

Can you remember your mom calling you "Mommy" and do you remember how loved you felt when she did? Post your comment here on southphillyscribe.blogger. I would love to hear from you.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

SOUTH PHILLYISMS

Although I've lived in New York for 21 years, I often rely upon the rich and memorable phrases that I learned as a child in South Philadelphia to express emotions that no standard English word can convey. Here is a list of my favorites:

You're enjoying a fine forceful spray under fire plug, but realize to your horror, that the water has shimmied the waistband of your pants down, or (if you're a girl) your top has suddenly become see-through. To which, your mother or grandma calls out "Pesch-Ma-Shame." I love this phrase for all the subtlety and tenderness it evokes. Within is the notion of Catholic guilt associated with one's body, but at the same time, there's something oddly loving and accepting about it.

The word "sceve" is not exclusively used in South Philadelphia, but has been heard in many Italian American neighborhoods. Still, if a fly lands on your proscuitto, your classmate has body odor, blackheads, or stepped in dog poo, the only words in South Philly that will do are "I sceve." Variations include "scev-otz" and "scevey." The word "sceve" is much more effective than modern terminology such as "that's gross" or "disgusting." To sceve implies more than a mere sensory offense. There's the implication of an almost moral outrage when one sceves person, place or thing.

I was often referred to as a "Medigan" because of my fair complexion, light eyes, etc. It's a shortened, Italianized version of "American" and I hated being reminded I didn't share the olive, swarthy, never-got-sunburned skin of my cousins and friends. That's what you get for being half Irish. No one ever believed that I was the daughter of the dark haired, dark eyed, Roman-nosed little Italian woman who pushed me in a stroller up and down 7th Street.

My grandfather Rosario, who died at the age of 101, moved to the United States when he was nineteen. He sired ten children with my grandmother Theresa DeGregorio, all born on the second floor of the their storefront on 12th and Porter. You'd think that 10 kids and a wife would keep him busy and content. Rosario, however, always had a "comare" also known as a "goomah" or "goomar." The word was said with a wry chuckle, and as a kid, I couldn't quite understand what they really meant. The truth was Rosario turned out to be the genetic Johnny Appleseed of the neighborhood, and now know I have way more cousins and aunts than were officially counted for at Sunday dinner.

There's also a variation of this phrase. Whenever I wore an unbecoming dowdy dress, glasses, or had a bad haircut, I ran the risk of being called "Cumare Jenny." Any woman whose sex appeal fell into the negative numbers, whose chance of marrying was less than zero, who preferred thick cardigans, flat shoes, and no make up, might be labeled as such.

My mother and aunts argued, traded gossip and gathered in the kitchen around sizzling pans of veal cutlets. When one of them got on the other's nerves, they'd say "Go Shit in Your Hat!" When they took offense, were unconvinced or otherwise dismissive of a remark, they'd say "Your Sister's Ass!" While this was not a strictly Italian use of language, they were shared by the Boccuto sisters with zest.

When my daughter was born almost 14 years ago, I suffered from a bad case of post-partum nerves. At night, as she lay in the crib and a hush fell over the house, I comforted her, and more truthfully myself by repeating the phrase "Ninna No." http://www.mamalisa.com/?lang=Italian&t=es&p=2168
I only just recently learned that the phrase translated from Italian into English means "lullaby." I can still hear my mother repeating those words to me before I drifted off to sleep. Good Night.

Roller Skates

24_roller-skates-1

It was a glorious day for roller-skating. Denise, my slightly older cousin and I were gliding down South 11th Street, the narrow blacktopped corridor of our childhood. She, of course, had the form-fitted white boot version. I wobbled on the metal brace skates. None of that mattered. It had rained all morning and now, the sun was drying the pavements, The scratch of straw brooms on the concrete made a soothing familiar sound, as a few women in the neighborhood gathered wet leaves, pebbles and cigarette butts and put them in dustpans. The wheels of our skates turned and rumbled.
"Let's go to Bigler Street," Denise said, grabbing my hand.
I sped up and almost fell, but grabbed her and she held me up. Denise, athletic, even at nine and half, waited until I caught my breath. An automobile drove by and we pressed our bodies against the parked cars until it passed. Another one approached, a green Gremlin, and came to a stop.
"Excuse me," the man in the car said to us.
We skated over. I had to take hold of the rear view mirror to steady myself on the slope of the street.
"Do you know where Broad Street is?" The man's face was unfamiliar, pasty, red-rimmed eyes with glasses.
"Broad Street, yes," I said. Who didn't know where Broad Street was.
Denise began to tell him to turn right, but stopped short.
"Have you ever seen one of these before?" the man asked. There under the glare of a 60-watt flashlight was his penis. He was holding the spotlight right on it. My stomach flipped and then I flopped. Denise screamed.
Flaccid or erect, I cannot say. Big or tiny, I don't remember, but ugly, yes. Scary as a sea monster, hairy, fleshy, shocking.
The car sped away. The two of us sped the other way, arms flailing, and my wobbly legs, now weak, buckling. Denise was faster, but I kept up. We reached my house in less than a minute and then realized that we'd have to tell my father--- obsessively shy man who never saw an R rated movie in his life.
Denise and I managed to climb up the steps in our skates, holding onto the wrought iron railing.
My father was in the kitchen, frying eggplants, sipping a beer from a juice glass, his brown Ortlieb's bottle under the table.
Luckily my mother appeared from the backyard where she was hanging sheets.
Denise did the talking. "A man just showed us his bird, Aunt Katie."
Now we were laughing a little, inside the shade and coolness of my home. My father just listened, his blue eyes shifting, avoiding my gaze, clearing his throat, turning the eggplants, sipping.
When the police cruiser arrived to take a report, the neighborhood buzzed. Denise's mother came over. Mrs. Cannely happened to be passing and stopped in.
"What'd he look like?" the cop asked.
"He was sitting in his car," I said. Didn't the cop know that all I could remember was the ghastly white thing between his legs?
Eventually, the excitement died down. Dusk settled under the trees of Mollbore Terrace amid the yellow flicks of fireflies and cigarettes.
Denise and I took off our skates, and giggled nervously between tastes of DeLeo's ice cream, our fragile innocence slightly diminished. The world we lived in - neighbors, grandmas, aunts and uncles seemed less safe as night fell.
A few years later, I saw that man again recognized him instantly as he worked behind the counter of a drugstore on Broad Street. I was there to buy cough drops.
I gasped, my eyes widened.
As I steadied myself to complete my purchase, the floor felt slippery, my balance compromised, as if I had on new pair of roller skates.