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Jett Superior laid this on you on || June 26, 2001 || 2:48 am

Is it funny to anyone else that their website has ads for missing children at the top when it used to be the running joke to say, “Behave, child, or I’m gonna sell you to the gypsies!”

I always wondered what the hell some gypsies would do with a little gaje girl such as myself.

I quite inadvertantly dated a gypsy boy once (he and some of his cousins crashed a dance I was at in high school); he didn’t tell me that he was a gypsy for a few weeks…it was his fear that I would immediately dismiss him upon finding out his Roma heritage. I was fifteen; what the hell did I know? I didn’t care if he had green stripes. I just dug him. His name was Tommy, and the same night I hooked up (not in the literal fornicating sense) with him, my best friend Tammy hooked up with his cousin Pat. When we found out that they were gypsies because of an impending weeks-long road trip, Tammy was horrified. She vowed to never speak to or see Pat again.

I just didn’t get it. “Beth,” she said emphatically, “they’re gypsies!” I still didn’t get it. I passed the knowledge along casually to my mother, thinking nothing of it. She did not react favorably. Once again, I was stymied.

Tommy left and I pined for him in the closet-dramatic way that adolescent girls do, feeling as if a part of me were being slowly killed, but hiding it carefully away from the world’s view.

Due to an unrelated matter, our phone number changed and was unlisted. I thought of Tommy constantly for some time; I played the songs we had danced to oh-so-closely with a reverent frequency. I searched for him in my own sophomoric way. I cried into my pillow at night, my fists tightly clenched and pressed into my stomach.

I learned as much as I could about gypsy customs/history/lifestyle during this period, and I am pretty confident that I know more about them than most Anglos out there. There is in fact a wealth of information on the subject but it seems to be sort of closely guarded, if not outright buried.

Anyway, here is some of it, in case you’d like to know.

And Tommy Gorman? I hope you thought of me and tried to find me too. In some perverse way, that would mean loads to me.

Nobody worked it out »

Don´t be shy. Lay it on me.

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