Latin and a Short Story

Howdy all. I stumbled across an old Latin phrase recently, which proved yet again there are no new ideas:

Homo Homini Lupus

Man is wolf to Man

The phrase goes perfectly well with this last week's events at my day job as we finished our studies of World War II and watched the excellent Holocaust movie called Life is Beautiful. Man is truly Wolf to Man.

Picture lifted from here 

~*~

Also for this post I moved over and edited a story from my Wattpad account. I would rather it be over here to keep my story babies all in the same location. I do this odd thing of looking over old posts and expanding them from time to time, which turns out to be a lot easier when they are in the same location. So here is Bullseye, a little piece born from a dream.

BULLSEYE

The officer went down the list. "Any distinguishing marks, tattoos?"

"Birth mark on left elbow, and I have a tattoo on my hand."

"Which hand?"

"Left."

"Show me." She talked as she typed. "Small tattoo, back of left hand, approximately half inch in diameter, bullseye with an arrow sticking out of it." A few more clicks of the keyboard. "Cute."

"Thanks." My eyes brimmed with tears. 

I was fifteen. I had a supervised visit with my dad and my brother Randy. Mom dropped me off just outside the main gate and dad honked when he saw me. His uniform was rough and smelled like the ocean and oil when we hugged.

We rode in silence for the short drive to the parking lot in sight of the water. The sky was overcast and gray, the waves were little and it was a little windy but nice. Too cold to swim. I remember the MPs, parked two spots over in the lot, pretending to watch. My little brother Randy was only five and my dad had checked him out of pre-school so he could meet me. 

We sat down at a picnic table at the edge of the sand. We huddled around and Dad tried to light the candles on my cake. With a "Ta-da!" he gifted me a camouflage backpack filled with school supplies and a stuffed dog. I instantly hated both, but thanked him anyways. He tried for once. We licked the candles clean.

After eating cake and sipping punch, my brother showed me stickers he had gotten for being a good boy at school. They were those fake tattoos, the ones you put on with a wet cloth. It was an Army base pre-school, so the stickers were bullseyes, thumbs-ups, tanks, things like that. He wanted everyone to have a sticker, so we all got one. Helped break some of the awkwardness. 

Mine was the bullseye, Dad picked a flag and Randy picked a little soldier. I still can feel the wet cloth sometimes. It was the first close contact I had with my dad in many years, him holding my hand on the tabletop and placing the temporary tattoo. I remember that moment any time the sky is gray and the wind chills my hands. I took Dad's wet napkin and put Randy's soldier on his hand. My little brother danced with joy and did his best salute to Dad. The sun shone bright as Dad returned the salute with a grin.

The MPs honked. Randy gave me another hug and kissed the back of my hand. We headed back to the main gate, the return trip as quiet as the first ride. Mom was outside, pacing away. Dad gave me a kiss on the head as we hugged and then I trudged across No-Man's Land through the gate. Mom snubbed out her cigarette and ignored Dad's wave. "Get in," she said.

When we got back home, I convinced my mom to let me get a tattoo for my birthday. I got a bullseye in the same spot as the sticker. Now every time I see my brother, that's our thing, the tattoo. No matter what trouble he is in, or how long it has been, he always grabs my hand and kisses my bullseye tattoo, just like when he was five.

The officer spoke, interrupting my thoughts. "Any other tattoos?"

I glanced down and rubbed the bullseye. A tear hit the metal surface. I wiped my eyes with a clatter of chain, careful of my mascara. I had forgotten for a moment Randy was dead and would never kiss my hand again. 

"No. Just the one."

~*~ 

Until next time, may your days be long and well upon this Earth.

Life is Beautiful Grazie and Danke

08 MAR 17

First off, a big shout out to everyone around the world who is reading these missives! Nearly a dozen other countries are showing up in the stats! Thank you! Danke, Grazie! Domo Arigato!

Thank You!

No matter what subject I teach or where I am teaching, I always try to slip in the award-winning movie Life is Beautiful sometime during the year. If you've seen it, let me know in the comments what it is about the movie that affects you so, good and bad. I wish I knew enough Italian to enjoy the movie in the original language, it sounds so musical. I can understand enough to watch it in Italian with English subtitles and follow it all right.

The reason I mention the movie is because I had a pretty cool thing happen in class a few weeks after we watched it. My students were quietly working away at an assignment and one of them sneezed. Normally this elicits several "Bless You's" from other students and a "Thank You" in response from the sneezer.

Today however the student who sneezed said, "Grazie," like Joseph, the son in the movie. Then someone in class whispered, "Danke. You're supposed to say Danke." And a few of the students nodded and smiled. It was kind of a touching moment. Right then I knew the movie had become something personal to them, a treasured memory that they would cherish for many years to come.

If you haven't seen the movie yet, go see it! I'll wait right here with a cup of tea and hanky. It's a holocaust movie, so if that isn't your cup of tea, well, you should see it anyway. It's a great movie.

There is a pivotal moment where the young son Joseph (who is an Italian Jew) is eating with a bunch of German children inside of a concentration camp. He is masquerading as a German and is getting his first good meal in a long while. But when he is served dessert his manners come to the fore and he says 'Grazie' to the waiter, which means 'thank you' in Italian. Oh no! But he is pretending to be German! He should have said Danke! The German waiter knows something is amiss and leaves to raise the alarm and get someone to haul this impostor child away. The father, Guido, is nearby, serving food as well and has a few moments in which to think of some way to save his son's life.

When we watched the movie earlier in the year, I timed the day's viewing to stop right at the moment when Guido is trying to figure out how to save his son's life. Students screamed their outrage! How could I stop the movie right then! I assigned them homework: Put yourself in Guido's shoes and try to figure out how to save your son. 

The most amazing thing happened the next day. Several students came to me and said they couldn't wait till class and they watched the movie online. That's when you know you have their attention! I even had one student cry at the end of the movie, she was so emotional. The movie really stuck with them.

Again, if you haven't seen it, go see it! Let me know what you think, good or bad. The first half of the movie is a little silly, the second half more serious. I have a few favorite scenes. Go ahead in the comments and let me know what your favorite scene is.

Two pictures for today, both from one of my favorite moments in the film:

 "First prize is a tank!"

"These guys get to play the part of the mean guards who yell all the time!"