I was raised in Greece. Mostly by my aunt and uncle. My uncle was a hard-working lawyer, who spent much of his life commuting from his home-office to his real office and back. I remember him quiet and domineering. He demanded order, cleanliness, neatness, and good behavior. Not to be disturbed during lunch or siesta. To be sure, no one messed with my uncle or his few and utilitarian material possessions. I remember the pencils on his desk. Perfectly sharpened, lined up in parallel with each other. Any change in the arrangement was noticed.
Transgressions often resulted in punishment that kept me on edge. Although my uncle's commitment to my well-being was unwavering, open expressions of love from him were rare. When they occurred, they were subtle. I remember as a kid watching in anticipation for them, and feeling convinced I had received one through a furtive look, special kind of smile, a tease that made me feel noticed, or even a punishment that was more lenient than I expected.
"Roter" is a memory of a transgression that resulted in no punishment at all. Quite the opposite. But it was never, ever discussed either. In this audio recording, I recount the story to my 13-year-old daughter.
Yanna Lambrinidou, Washington DC