Joseph C. DeLuca

 

 

 

 

When we were kids Dad told us all basements leaked and the smell was the same. It was true, regardless of any of the homes we visited in the neighborhood or our relatives; the basements all had that smell of musty mold. The area around the leak was always the same color: greenish-brown or bluish-black, that never seems to dry. The cinder block was always damp looking; you could trace the crack and the water stains coming from the walls down to the floor: the water trailed to a floor drain which was the same color as the leak. Dad said there was only one way to fix it and that was to dig down into the side of the house, below the foundation, and replace the cinder blocks. The mortar used today was better mix than was used at the time this house was built; new advanced technology. Nevertheless, those repairs would cost too much, more money than we could afford – steelworkers lived pay-to-pay.

All of the homes in my neighborhood were built in the late 40’s early 50’s, right after the war. We have learned a lot since WWII. Although, there was a Korean war, in the 50’s, nobody talks about it because we did not win. Americans don’t remember, or like to talk about losers, only winners. When they refer to ‘the war’, everybody accepts the fact you are referring to the war in Europe and Japan, WWII – “the big one”. The one were we “kicked some kraut ass and made sure those Japs never forget who they had fucked with”.

 It is the unknown that we fear: it is the unknown that really scares the shit out of us. We as a people, generally, are fairly rational in our behavior and thinking. At least, those are my experiences. Those are the experiences of most of the people I come into contact with in my daily activities. I am a normal person, but normal is a relative term.

 Most of us generally consider ourselves as “normal”: it is others that we find different – not normal. It is this perception of how others view others, and we choose the factors in what and whom we define as “normal”. We seem to live in a world where people’s perspectives and perceptions often differ from one another’s. There are as many opinions as there are people. Whether you are from Kansas or Kentucky, the United States or the United Kingdom, whether or not you are Muslim, Catholic, Hindu, Atheist or Jew: White, Black or Yellow, if you ask, you will find a different view of the same thing, object, issue or subject.

Our parents always told us, do not talk to others about religion or politics. That was fine back then, things were- simpler: people were not ready to face the challenges of the complex issues that faced our world, after all, we were still dealing with the shock: one fear at a time, please.

When you are a kid, you tend to pay attention to those things your parents tell you. They should know- they’re older. Besides, what do you know? You are just a kid: go to school, go to catechism, shut up, behave, and learn something. At the very least, shut up, or was that - learn something? I do not remember.

Pray to the Lord, He is the almighty, maker of Heaven and Earth. He sent us his only son, Jesus, who was given to us to forgive us of our sins. He is seated at the right hand of the Father, and will one day return to earth to judge the living and the dead. OK – see Sister Mary, I did learn something. At least that’s the version of the Catholic Church. Now, the Muslims have a different take on it. So do the Hindu’s. The Jewish version is a completely separate world; a world I admit, I do not understand. If we are not supposed to talk about religion and politics; then how do we begin to understand others who have a different belief, a different value system or understanding of God? Maybe that is why we continue to destroy each other; you know - war.

I am not a real big history buff or expert but everything I have read in our world history indicates most of our wars are over religion and or politics. So, if we don’t talk to each other, about religion or politics, then how do we ever have a chance of stopping the death of our brothers and sisters all over the world? I am sure God or Jesus did not want us to behave towards each other this way; what are we afraid of?

It is funny - odd, how people of power and authority talk about their faith, their faith in God and at the same time speak of the destruction of their “enemies”. I know what you are thinking; “yeah, those gawdamn towel heads can’t blow us up and not expect to feel the wrath, or our revenge. They are terrorists, they deserve to die, and they are trying to destroy our people and our way of life.” That label, “terrorists” it is like the label “normal”, it is relative. To them, we are the terrorists. We have been stealing and raping and destroying their resources, societies, beliefs, and their traditions for centuries. We are the ones who have told the rest of the world, “we’re right, your wrong: God put America on this earth as the example of how all republics should treat their citizens and how our religious beliefs is the version God wanted”, implying that we are the chosen ones. Chosen for what: And by whom? Such arrogance only serves man, his perceptions, prejudices and his fears.

As I said before, it is the fear of the unknown that makes us do some of the things we do. Ask yourself why? Why do we hate the Jews? I don’t mean you specifically, but maybe, you too. My Dad says, “The damn Jews, I’m tired of hearing about the Holocaust and how it was genocide and how the Nazis killed millions of Jews. I’m tired of all the sympathy and guilt they try to impose on everyone else. If you question anything they say you are branded as anti-Semitic; they weren’t the only people who died in “the Big One”. They act as if everybody else in the world owes them something, owes them everything. So what do they do? They invade Palestinian territory, take over the West Bank; Jerusalem, and declare the State of Israel: get the United States to support their new state and now we are in the middle of their religious war.”

Why do some people hate the Jews so much? Is it because they were responsible for the death of Jesus? Some think they were responsible. The Jews say, “Jesus was a prophet, nothing more”. I understand that. It would be very difficult to live with yourself, if you knew you were the reason, or your actions, caused the death of the son of man, the lord, and the messiah. That would be a tough burden to carry. It is awkwardly explained away; Jesus was a prophet - no burden and no guilt. Jews have a different set of bibles, scriptures, and religious beliefs. Are they right? Who knows for sure? Can it be that they are correct? Would it be so terrible? Obviously, others all over the world think it would. Fear of the unknown. The fear is swelling up inside us.

I have been trying to learn Italian from those CD’s you can listen to in the car. I spend about 15 hours each week, driving from state to state, selling my business consulting services. I use the time to learn a little of the language my grandfather spoke. He came over from Sicily before the Fascists took over the government in 1913. He settled in West Virginia where he worked in the coalmines, married an Italian girl, raised his family. We would visit them each summer, driving from Ohio across the river over the Appalachian Mountains. He always called me Giuseppe and would give me a quarter to get a haircut. By the time we had gotten to the little town of Scarbro, West Virginia, the old coal mining town was reduced to a ghost town; with little more than a few shops still open for the widows of the miners, living off retribution checks for the disease that killed most of their husbands; Black Lung.

I can remember our neighbor, Mrs. Baker, used to swear at us in German when we would mess up her vegetable garden. The Bakers had a beautiful vegetable garden on the back edge of their property. The lived right next door; had three sons. We all grew up together, from grade school to high school graduation. We were all within a year of each other. We played football, baseball, golf, fishing, and cards; everything boys do. The Baker’s were Pennsylvania Dutch, German descent. Mrs. B. was a good cook. I did not really learn any German from her, but I knew it was German when she started yelling at us boys for screwing up something around her house.

When I was a kid, I used to dream I could fly. Yeah, I know, every kid had the same dream. But I’ll bet mine was a little different. I would jump off the windowsill of my bedroom, flap my wings, (uh, arms) once, glide through the patio and up into the sky. The harder and faster I flapped the higher I would go. I would get to a height when I did not have to move my arms as fast and could then I could just glide. That’s when I would look down on the neighborhood and see the tops of the houses and yards we would run through and play ball on. Sometimes, I would go higher until I could only see the clouds and a distant horizon. I remember any time I wanted to fly I could. There were times all I had to do were run fast, flap my arms and I would start to climb. That was harder than jumping from the windowsill, but I could do it. It was a wonderful feeling. I never got cold or felt any discomfort. I really didn’t do anything up there except fly and look at the ground, the neighborhood. It was not as if I was in heaven or anything like that, just the neighborhood.

I do not remember when my flying dreams stopped. I tried to remember, but I don’t. I suppose it was around the time of adulthood. I only remember that it seemed so real, so easy to conjure up in my mind, anytime it suited me: I suppose all dreams and nightmares are easy to conjure, if you choose to.

 What an adventure, what if we really could fly, fly like a bird? It was an incredible feeling, a feeling of being free, free from pain, free from fear: simple. There were no feelings of uncertainty or fear of the unknown. It seemed so natural, so normal. There’s that word again – normal. My perception of normal is probably similar to yours, not completely the same, but close: I’ll bet.

What would you do, or how would you feel, about a community you lived and worked, knowing they may have had relatives who killed your relatives in a furnace or gas chamber? People who had such a hate for you and yours, they tried to turn the rest of the world on you to eliminate your race, your creed: eliminate them from the face of the earth. I do not know what you would feel; I would be terrified and uncertain. My trust factor would be limited to a few people who shared the same experiences and feelings. I would stick to my neighborhood, my own schools. I would do business with those establishments that were recommended by my tight knit group of trusted relatives, colleagues and friends. I would not make any waves in a mixed social setting.

To many people, that environment is considered ‘normal’. I told you it was a relative term. I don’t live that way. When I was a kid in middle school the worst prejudice I dealt with was being called a “dago”. When that happened, I knocked the shit out of the kid who said it. I really did not understand the meaning of the word; I bet the kid who said it did not know either. I only knew it was a word that made my father angry when it was used. The other kids in my class laughed when he said it: I think that is what bothered me more than anything, so I hit him. The kids in my class stopped laughing, I did not feel any better, and the kid who made the comment, got a bloody nose. Great way to settle that issue; I learned a whole bunch from that incident.

 We really are our brothers’ keeper. What do you fear?