November 23, 2020:
"That little Jew girl," said the man who sired me. He said it more than once. Many times, in his oddly smug northern midwestern accent. A language which said far more than it did.
He chose not to pay his child support. That was a language, too. One I heard, clear and loud and long, all through my childhood.
My mother had him arrested, as a result of that language. An action which was another kind of language altogether. A different order of discourse, yet a discourse nevertheless.
He liked that little Jew girl. He was expressing affection for her, in that language.
I doubt he liked me. If he had, he would have paid his child support. One day he was gone, with no word or forwarding address. Still yet another language, clear and loud and long.