not necessarily for the right man…but more– for the right tax man. What my wonderful, Italian mother knew and passed on to us was that uncanny ability to question authority and never take no as the final answer if it wasn’t the answer we had been pushing for. She was un-politically correct to a fault and brave and permitted, hardly ever stopped from functioning in that ‘old world way’.  She crossed many a- red taped barriers which would have halted the average non-argumentative stickler for law abiding anything at face value. Ones who would flake at the first sign of no-trespassing signs and would actually not trespass. Ones who would pay full price without bargaining and walk away with that ‘I think I’ve been ripped off’ feeling’. That wouldn’t jive with our Italian mama.

She lived by the word “fair” or “justo” meaning don’t try to pull the wool over our eyes administrators–with your fancy titles and your departments to hide behind. Of course, it may just have been the fact she didn’t read English thereby avoiding too many tricky words to say the same thing…’you are about to get ripped off’. If that was about to happen, to cut out that bull#%$%, mama would whip out her, proverbially,  ever sharpened gardening sheers used for her backyard escarole like they were a 44 special on truth. No official died, maybe only died laughing and most certainly would have died smarter and less their automated and miserable lives-thus far.

Us kids, second-generation-ers, called it embarrassing then at times a little illegal…now that she’s gone, our memories of her funny antics stand as important guidelines to living less politically appropriate or ‘had’ and more authentic and ‘having’. Better than Google, when I have a question or come upon a pseudo sale or I’m double charged by the tax man… I ask ‘what would my ‘old-world’ Italian mother do’, and then I do it. Its fun, its called a ‘slick-move’ that nobody sees coming or sees me getting away with murder on politically-correctness… Thanks Mom.


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