Persuede

Manipulation, persuasion, influence.

The first two sound more alike than different to my ear.

Persuasion feels bad to me.

I don't like being persuaded and I don't like doing the persuasion - oh ok in the moment I do like persuading people.

Persuasion starts with the assumption that I know whats right, and not only for myself but for at least some if not all others.

Maybe my resistance to the term persuade goes back to 8th grade.

I was the youngest in my class having skipped not one but two half grades. I was also the very shortest and still two years away from menarche I looked more like a ten year old boy than a twelve year old girl.

So I was the youngest, shortest, smartest, and I was really cute even without hormones.

And my Civics teacher was my father's brother's wife's brother's wife. Didn't exactly make her Aunt Ellie, but her husband's sister was my Aunt Helen, still it was family.

Margaret Bacera couldn't take it.

Margaret was at least six feet tall. Taller than just about everyone in the school, including Joe, my Aunt Helen's brother (they both taught at my elementary school)

Margaret was tall and gangly like a sixteen year old boy and as flat chested as one, so at least we had that in common.

She was an American Indian, I have no idea what nation. She was 15 and when she read aloud she stumbled through every sentence, probably more uncomfortable with the attention than I was aware then. I just thought she was all that slow.

We lived on the south side of Chicago. A very blue-collar neighborhood. We didn't have a lot of nice things, but neither did most every one else.

Hand-me-downs were the rule not the exception.

A bundle came into the house for me. I have no clue where it came from and most of the stuff was typical, not exciting at all. But the suede purse. Ohmygosh it was soo cool.

About the size & shape of a clutch bag, and it had a long leather shoulder strap.

Beautiful soft brown suede, trimmed out with brown leather.

It was easily the coolest thing I owned that year.

One day we had to write something that had me fully absorbed - deep in concentration on the assignment, my head down the entire class. Bell rang I stood up and gathered my things, including the gorgeous suede purse that had been hanging on the back of my seat.

Margaret had been sitting behind me and she hurried away when I stood up.

I pulled up the purse and froze.

On the back in blue ink, in large blocky letters it said

Mary Anne Baker - The Brain