...to Think the Best of You

We've all been there: you're standing patiently on the deli counter line thinking about the three hundred other errands you need to run when an exuberant and oblivious college student, full of his youth and new-found independence leans in, presumably to look at the Swiss cheese selections, and places his order right there in front of you. You simmer, and steam, and think of a thousand things except the right thing to say.

       "Maybe he's in a hurry because he has an exam 

        tomorrow." "Maybe he was here before me, and 

        I didn't see him."  "I don't want to sound like a 

        tetchy old lady." "Oh, it's too late to do anything 

        now, the order is placed."  

You drive home trying to shake the scene from your head, but it's stuck. You know there was something you could have said that would have politely yet firmly expressed your anger, illuminated his oblivion, and gotten him to back down: you were there first; too bad about his exam, he should have been studying all along; and, right now, I am a tetchy old lady! And then you beat yourself up the whole way home for not finding the right words when you needed them.

Then it hits you: "Oh, goodness! Silly me! I must have forgotten to take off my invisibility cloak this morning! Ought to remember that the next time I come to the grocery store."

Or the sad encounter during which you learn from your much younger boss that you were passed over for promotion because your cover letter was not compelling enough for him to turn it over and look at your resume. As the humiliating scene unfolds, you think to yourself, "Watch what you say because he is your boss." "Well, it is a cover letter. It should make the employer want to know more about you." "Maybe that cover letter really wasn't my best."

Feeling uncomfortable about the conversation the whole way home, you stew and mull, and then it hits you. "Don't talk to me about compelling cover letters! Honey, I was teaching cover letters while you were in training wheels!"

All kinds of social conventions and insecurities filter our natural responses. Be polite. Respect authority figures. Everyone makes mistakes. Maybe I was wrong. The Italian Mama has been thinking about another one: the inclination some people have to think the best of other people, to believe that everyone does their job competently, has the community's best interest in mind, tells the truth, and acts honorably. These beliefs inhibit our gut reactions, which we ignore at our peril. On the other hand, if you go around believing that everyone is incompetent, egotistical, and self-absorbed, it's easy to let those zingers fly.

          But do you want to harbor such an unflattering view 
          of your fellow journeymen? The Italian Mama thinks 
          not. Carrying around all of that negativity might just 
          mire you in the muck.

Armed with this new awareness of the reasons for holding my tongue, the Italian Mama is old enough to judiciously weigh the cost/benefits of hurling a zinger. Choosing to remain silent may deny the fleeting satisfaction of calling out the ignorant but may be the result of a more sunny view of humanity. And that's nothing to beat yourself up about.

...to Remember Boom Boxes (Part II)

Since they were toddlers capable of making lots of noise and inserting themselves into the lives of all people within an 100 yard radius, my kids learned from the Italian Mama that behaving properly in public means disturbing as few people as possible, as little as possible. On my seemingly interminable New York City commutes to my first job out of college, disturbing as many people as possible, preferably to an intolerable degree, was a goal achieved by many young men who appeared to be otherwise disenfranchised. Surrounded by people dressed for the office or lugging backpacks for school, the Boom Box Brigade sported baggy jeans, unlaced hiking boots, and bomber jackets over t-shirts. They were not riding the 4 train to Wall Street. I couldn't help but feel that the loud music, the lumbering gait (under the weight of that damned boom box!), and the disheveled clothing was a demonstration of power from the powerless, a literal shout out "I matter if only because I am assaulting your eardrums and eyeballs right now!"

Contrast these loud, imposing, and hard-to-ignore young people with today's young music lovers. Their iPods or iPhones tucked discreetly in their pockets, they silently enjoy their music and glide through society disturbing only those they might bump into as they silently text their friends. The Italian Mama believes that today's plugged in youth may feel more empowered in more constructive ways than their counterparts from 30 years ago. They don't need to aurally and visually assault everyone in their vicinity in order to feel validated. Their ability to shape public discourse and even overthrow governments on social media and other Internet forums enables them to say, "Hey, I matter!" in much more effective ways than boom boxes once did for their generation. The Twitter Revolutions in Iran, Egypt, and Ukraine demonstrate the immense power young people and others hold in their hands when they log on to tweet, post, like and unlike.

The Italian Mama is old enough to remember the fruitless sounds emanating from boom boxes and thanks the Internet for giving young people a way to be heard that matters.

...to Remember Boom Boxes (Part I)

In the 1980s, I spent a lot of time on commuter trains in the greater New York metropolitan area. My journey to work began on the first of two PATH trains in New Jersey, the second of which dropped me off in the basement of the now-destroyed World Trade Center. From there I caught the subway to mid-town Manhattan to begin my workday 90 minutes after leaving my home in Harrison, NJ. All of this time on public transportation gave me ample opportunity to observe and ponder many social phenomena and survival mechanisms in tightly crammed public spaces.

Most people on these long, uncomfortable commutes tried to make themselves as invisible and small as possible in order to afford at least the illusion that they might enjoy some personal space, if only an inch or two. Then there were the those who would not be ignored.

In those days, long before Steven Jobs and his creative geniuses could dream of the iPod, there was the boom box. Although it served the same function as the iPod, the boom box was the total antithesis of the iPod in every aspect except in its ability to provide musical entertainment away from the home stereo. It was heavy; it had no easy means of transportation, maybe a handle; it's musical selections could be customized only by adjusting a radio station or changing a cassette tape (remember those?!). And yet, they were popular. Especially popular among subway-riding, sidewalk-walking urban youth, boom boxes proclaimed to the world not only the owner's musical taste but something much more existential. Seeing so many of these nomadic DJs, I couldn't help but notice the guys with the swaggiest swagger, the struttiest strut were the ones hoisting the bulkiest boom boxes. On any given day, I might encounter half a dozen young men hauling around boom boxes that looked like control panels from Cape Canaveral. Hey guys, are we guiding the Space Shuttle into orbit or listening to music?

The Italian Mama thinks neither.