The Wizard of Oz
The Wizard of Oz
When I was ten
years old, my dad’s mom told me that my domestic competence were at an
unacceptable level, and that, after homework, I would have to learn how to
cook, knit and embroider the wedding trousseau, the one that I would have to show
my future mother-in-law at the eve of my marriage. For its part, my mother
bought the first of twelve volumes of recipes and a book, "The art of
governing house and family" with a red dust jacket on which a woman
appeared in an apron ready for the housework. I opened the book and in the
index I started to read:
• how to remove
stubborn stains
• how to properly store clothes in the closet
• rearrange children's toys ...
"I'm
only ten," I said.
"Do not be silly! For
the girls, that's just how it is "replied in chorus my mother and my
grandma.
I remained for days in absolute silence. I felt alone, an exception to the
rule, a species belonging to an alien form.
My teacher insisted long before I told him that the world had something wrong.
He told me that in life I could do what I wanted and go anywhere. He told me
that in the world and in my own country too there were girls of my own species.
He gave me some books to read. I clung to the words. Since my grandma couldn’t
read and write, in case of her random searches, while I read books, I’d hide
them under the red dust jacket.
sudden rain -
on the road of yellow stones
traces of rust
Published in
Under the Basho, 3 november 2018, category: UTB 2018-Haibun.
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