When my children were little, as many families do, my parents, and my husband and I would spell words out loud when we didn’t want the children to know what we were speaking about. Spelling was a secret language—that is until they learned to read. My youngest daughter Kara thought essodeeay was an English word—a synonym for diet coke. She didn’t have to know how to read or spell to understand what s-o-d-a meant—context, and cause and effect said it all.
Both sets of my grandparents emigrated from Italy. Both of my parents were first generation Italian-Americans who grew up in bilingual households as well as studied the Italian language in school. Neither my brother nor I spoke or studied Italian. And only a few of my cousins understood the language—not because Italian was spoken at home, but because it fulfilled their regents requirement in high school.
When my brother and I were growing up there was this Italian phrase that either my grandparents said to my parents, or my parents said to each other and that phrase was non dice niente.(My brother and I misheard it as monga dicha nien). It was a secret phrase to us. It had mysterious powers. Until very recently I did not know its literal translation—as a kid the literal translation wasn’t all that important--what I understood was that once that phrase was uttered, I was off the hook—whatever trouble I was about to get into, was nullified. The tension dissipated and whatever adult was about to get angry, magically, after those words were articulated, backed down. Utterance of the phrase resulted in total amnesty—it was better than a presidential pardon. And my brother and I would wait sometimes, as tensions escalated, silently saying Hail Marys and praying: please God let the non dice niente be proclaimed.
The phrase was both a noun and a verb in our minds. And as we got older, my brother and I would use the phrase in the following ways: Gee Mark, if we do that, will we get a non dice niente ,or do you think they (our parents) will get really mad? Or Gee Mark I would non dice niente that—it’s not worth the aggravation. And my brother and I continued to use the phrase with our own children---we would say to them Go ask your grandmother if that is a non dice niente or if it is okay.
Language is a funny thing—it’s just a bunch of sounds wedged together in a repetitive way, and the repetition eventually lends meaning. Our brain connects the sounds with causal effect. I was in first grade before I realized that ellamenopee was not the 12th letter of the alphabet. I learned in my teens that it wasn’t a doggie-dog world, it was a dog-eat-dog world. Kara and Briana thought a laptop was a labtop. And the correct phrase, often misspoken is: beggars can’t be choosers; not beggars can’t be choosey.
Jasper is my Wheaton terrier. Terriers are very smart dogs. And Jasper has an extensive vocabulary for a canine. So when I didn’t want him to understand what I was saying—just like I did with my kids—I would spell things. And for a while that worked. But just like Kara understood s-o-d-a meant soda, and my brother and I understood non dice niente meant don’t say anything (the literal translation), Jasper knows d-i-n-n-e-r means he’s going to get fed—and o-u-t means the back door is going to open. He doesn’t need to know how to read or spell to understand meaning and its causal effect.
By the way, if anyone tells you that someone they know is che faccia brute. It’s not a compliment. It means that even if Vinny does their hair---AND they get a makeover from the Bobby Brown counter at Lord and Taylor--- Bruce Brewer MD and the team of surgeons over at Long Island Plastic Surgeons PC are still needed to correct the situation. If you are che faccia brute, your dating pool is very small--a direct translation from Italian to English is not necessary— you have been hit with the ugly stick.
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