"I Used to be Pretty" by Rob Chaffart

It is amazing how your brain can bring back to mind long forgotten memories, even insignificant ones. My youngest son, who is nearly twelve years old, was responsible for triggering a long forgotten memory this morning, an event in my life that happened when I was about his age.

It was late July, and it was breakfast time. I was sitting outside on the veranda of a hotel in Italy with my parents, enjoying the outstanding view of the city. Firenze, or Florence for us English-speaking people, lay nestled in the valley below, surrounded by the foothills of the Apennine Mountains. The Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore stood out in the distance in all of its splendor, complete with pigeons on every possible ledge.

Oh, the pigeons!

Although Florence is renowned as being a major centre of culture, commerce, and banking, a reputation that at one time earned it the status of being the "Athens of the West", and even now it retains its romantic Renaissance atmosphere, my attention was held by the pigeons! Especially the ones chasing each other throughout the branches of nearby trees!

As I was admiring these infamous birds, I happened to I notice a group of strangers sitting at a table near ours. I listened to them for a few seconds, and by their accent, determined that they were likely from North America. I wasn't surprised that they had come from so far away. After all, this amazing city seemed to attract people from all around the world. Most likely it was because of its myriad of pigeons!

As our breakfast was being served, I was horrified by a comment made by my brother: "Look how ugly that woman is!" he said, nodding his head towards the American lady.

"Shhh!" I hissed, embarrassed. "Don't talk so loud!"

"Who cares!" was his immature response (we were both still quite young and foolish). "Nobody can understand us anyway!"

It was true, for he was speaking in Oostendsch - the local Dutch dialect from our hometown in Belgium, a language spoken nowhere else on Earth. Still, it made me uncomfortable. "You never know!" I snapped.

Breakfast was delicious, and once we had finished, we started to retreat to our room. As we passed the nearby table however, the "ugly" woman turned to us, and speaking in perfect Oostendsch, she said: "I used to be pretty you know!"

We stopped in our tracks, our mouths hanging open. I could see my brother's face, and it was an impossibly bright shade of red. Could it be that he had gotten sunburned so early in the morning? Or was it something else?

After a few moments of small talk, all in our local dialect, we learned that the lady's husband had been among the first Americans to enter Belgium in the liberation following World War II. He had been with the American secret intelligence and had learned several local Dutch dialects. Who could have imagined foreigners learning Oostendsch!

What a priceless lesson that lady taught us, for we learned that day that every word we say bears consequences.

(From Glen Leverentz's "Glen's Story Corner" on Relevant Radio - www.relevantradio.com).