Little Homicides

by Regis Boff

I grew up on one of the many hills surrounding the City of Pittsburgh. We were all bigots and racists. Being homophobic was not an option because the very thought of such a thing was too horrid to even hate.
Every large ethnic or racial group had it’s hill, a result of the national game of “musical chairs” America plays with homesteading immigrants.
Our arriving wretched masses huddled on the first space found to be empty. They were expected to keep to themselves and follow the rules of the dominant culture of the time. Nobody benefitted from guests who noisily tried to draw attention to themselves, and that was quickly learned or else.
Immigrants remained visitors until they could shed their annoying native language, leaving only their clumsy accents that trailed them like kites for a couple of generations. No group has failed to adopt the English language since our beginnings. It seems our hysterical Left wants to add Spanish. It is a lousy idea. They believe it is kind to do this. The truth is they are crippling them. Luckily, our immigrants from the South are too smart. They want to assimilate.
Pittsburgh’s uncontaminated little enclaves stood like bearded goats on these hilltops, each confident that their summit was closer to whatever God was above them. There were no hills for women, as they were scattered equally.
Class envy existed, but there was not much of that. We were all kind of lower class and fighting about so little would have just proven more demoralizing.
I grew up in a time when snobbishness was a greater offense than bigotry.
Nowadays self-admiration is confused with strength and intolerances are like little homicides.