I like getting comments. I think most bloggers do. Getting a comment on something I've written means someone has not only taken the time to read what I wrote, they've taken the time to chime in. It means I've somehow struck a nerve. And I like touching nerves.
My wife likes it, too.
It lets her know that all this time I'm in my office, with the headphones on and the door closed, is not being wasted in lieu of more productive activities like taking out the garbage, straightening out the garage or even rearing the children.
Last week I got a very odd comment. It was in response to an entry I'd written over two years ago, entitled ZOG 101, a spirited tongue-in-cheek argument about the theory of Jewish World Domination. I have thoughtfully and in very un-Jewish fashion, generously linked it here for your convenience.
Here's the comment:
I was shocked to read such hateful speech from one of my readers as most of you are friends and family. And I seriously thought about simply deleting the comment. But then I reconsidered and decided the best way to combat anti-semitism is to air it out and let its own fractured logic and ignorance speak for itself.
My favorite part of the comment is the sign off, where the anonymous and cowardly reader encourages me to "Kike on". While that phrase may be popular on stormfront.org or the vanguard news network, it's not something you hear everyday. I remember the first time I heard the term.
I was 11 years old. And a dim-witted fellow named Mark Ghosio hurled that pejorative at me. Followed by a flurry of fisticuffs and a quick trip to the Principal's office. His parents and my parents were hauled in for a peacemaking conference. This did little good as my father pulled me aside and told me anytime that kid makes a remark like that, you have my permission to swing away.
Needless to say, there were many more dust-ups with the Ghosio kid.
The funny thing is you could show me a picture from my 5th grade class and chances I wouldn't remember 75% of the names. But you never forget the name of the first person to call you a Kike.
5 comments:
Great piece. When I was growing up as one of the only Jews in a totally Irish town in Boston I was given the nickname "Juvenile Delinquent" despite being the most well-behaved kid in the school. It took my wife to explain why, many years later. At least my denial (or thickness) kept me from getting my ass kicked.
Love the "I like Ike" button. You Jews are so clever.
Despite two synagogues being in walking distance from my house, I got my share of anti-semitism at an early age. At the end of our street was St. Margaret Mary's Church and school. Many of the neighbors attended said church with scary Sisters of Mercy with tall pointed habits. Being left out was par for the course for me. And the ultimate diss, the whole gang choosing a Hide-and-Go-Seek hiding place that even Navy Seals could not find. This would result in me walking home mid-game with my silent fuck you. And you know what? At the end of the day, everyone in every house on the block had their own share of hardships and heartbreaks. Race, religion, or any categorization aside, we're all human.
One more note.
The thing I love about white supremacists and Holocaust deniers is their consistency. They'll tell you the Nazis' never built concentration camps or killed 6 million Jews. And then, in the same breath, they'll swear their allegiance to Hitler and tell you how they wish he had finished the job.
That makes this Kike smile.
Every Monday, from first grade through fourth, James Malloy tossed a penny at my sheeny ass. And every Monday I was sent to Principal O'Brien's office for fighting. After Monday's events spread to Thursdays with the twins: Dickie and Timmy Wright, I finally learned to go to the only landsman on the teaching staff. Mr. Pearlman from that day forward, told me to cover my knuckles and get my ass back to class. Then he would drag the Irish Jew-baiter of the day, by the ankle, down to the VICE Principal's office: Mr. Giordano.
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