Sententia (sen-ten’-ti-a): One of several terms describing short, pithy sayings. Others include adage, apothegem, gnome, maxim, paroemia, and proverb.
“It takes one to know one.” Whenever I called my sister names, that’s what she would say as a comeback. I knew it wasn’t true. For example, I would call her an “evil guppy. fart.” She’d say her thing and I’d look in the mirror to check and sniff the air—she was wrong on both counts—I was not a guppy or a fart. But then, I realized, neither was she. In my attempt to call her something disgusting, I was entirely missing the mark. I truly wanted to add “words” to “sticks and stones” as bone-breaking devices. I became absorbed in closely examining her “looks.” I also studied her agility, her ethics and what she said for signs of stupidity or other shortcomings. Some of my categories of analysis overlapped, but I didn’t care—I was looking for deficiencies and the complexity of their manifestations is intriguing. I tried be objective, but quickly learned my interests and assumptions would inevitably rule my quest. I watched videos of Groucho Marx to learn “insultation” from the best—I learned to mimic Groucho’s snide voice and began using it all the time. I was getting good.
I would dwell on a different aspect of my sister every week. My mantra was “Observe, Opine, Insult.” It was devastating. My sister stopped participating in sports. She didn’t do her homework. When she got home from school, she went straight to her room, after sneaking a cigarette in the garage. She called our mother names. She failed her driver’s test eight times and wore socks with holes in the toes. Sure, there was a lot there to make fun of, but I felt like I was to blame for her life going down hill.
If I caused the problem, I could cause the solution. I could rain down praise and drench her in good thoughts about herself. I wanted to get the ball rolling immediately. Sitting at the breakfast table across from my sister in pajamas, I said, “You look beautiful this morning.” She perked up and asked “Really.” “Of course,” I said “For sure!”
I was a little late getting to the school bus stop. My sister was already there, she was still wearing her pajamas, and her bunny slippers too. She hadn’t even washed her face or brushed her hair. She was crying. Some kid was taunting her. I hit him in the face with my US History book and he went down with a bloody nose, sobbing on the pavement. The taunting immediately stopped. I said, “This is my sister. She has her problems, but she’s the best sister in the world. She deserves your respect.” They all laughed. The bus pulled up and they got on and rode away—off to school. My sister and I went back home and played hooky. I put my pajamas on and we went to the mall. I didn’t have any slippers so I borrowed a pair of socks from my Sister. I made sure they had holes in the toes, even though they were too small.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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