I remember in the storytales my grandma would weave. She told me stories about how she would go to the streets  and see wise-guys standing on boxes to prove themselves. It was a rite of passage, an old to the family, the respect to show they were worth becoming made. Ranks are thrown out like cheese to rats nowadays. I feel the title is becoming a little raggity with the hustle and bustle of the windy city all the way to the bay, the south, and new york. 

So here I am. In front of you all. Not (naked) mind you but if a brain had a dress, it would be. I am staring at some honey sweet rolls, mmm those buns look good wrapped in that plastic wrap. Sometimes these business cats think they're so wise. That what you thinkin? I'll be good to the family. I won't make that promise though. Promises are like Kings, everyone has a crown few have guts to break away from it. 

I always thought that having the honor of becoming "Made" was a choice of a family head and his/her advisors. Based on LOYALTY, RESPECT, HARD WORK and KEEPING HIS/HER MOUTH SHUT aka OMERTA.

I was unaware that becoming MADE had anything to do with standing on a street corner and drawing unwanted attention to yourself.

Do not get me wrong, public speaking CAN be a very useful tool in our way of life....in the right context.

Now I cannot speak for every single mafioso who has the rank of Mademan or higher, but as for me....

I have worked hard, I am loyal, I treat everyone with respect (regardless of their rank) and I keep my mouth shut about family business. I take pride in knowing I have done what is expected of me. So to have someone come out here and tell me that my rank is nothing more than a ( hunk of cheese thrown to a rat ) I take that as an insult, not only to me but to the good name of my boss.

*painting everyone with the same brush, will get your point across quicker, but usually just makes a mess and wastes paint*

Did your grandmother's "storytales" include the hard work that an individual puts into becoming a true part of the family in some cases? I admit, in some crews around these parts all it takes is donating enough and earning enough. In others it takes more than that. It takes earning trust, proving yourself to the boss, proving yourself to the crew or family (Whichever category it falls into.)..

Do you think our ancestors made their way through this world selling baked goods on a street corner for all of the authorities to see? Do you think that drawing attention to the people you work for is going to get you further in this life? Sheesh, honestly? It's about being smart.. Not selling yourself, I mean you wares, on corners.

Business smarts, politics, knowing the right people.. That's what it takes to get further. Give your last penny if you have to, work your fingers to the bone. Become involved in the community and what makes it tick..

It's not selling buns on a corner..

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head

All these new bloodlines thinking they're few generations of ancestors have seen and done it all. When will they learn?

You earn your stripes and you get rewarded.

Keep the buns... Make some connections. Best advice I can give you.

She glances toward JM Browning.

Pretty sure he'll agree.. Even if he is a young whippersnapper himself.

Sophia, I'm not quite sure what to make of this and I'm even less sure of what to say in response. You are a member of our family and I'm worried as to what led you to come out here with this statement.

While I will agree that in some cases, rank is delivered all too easily, I will also say that this is not true of all scenarios. Many mobsters work extremely hard to achieve their badge and it is still considered a great honour; perhaps things aren't done quite as they used to be, but that's not to say the tradition won't be reinvoked at some stage. To my mind, the title of Made Man is something that must be earned in a variety of ways in order to be truly appreciated; by the same token, it is something that should be openly celebrated and respected.

I will also say that your last few words have left me feeling rather disconcerted. Perhaps we should have a discussion in a more private arena than out here on the Streets.

Tiggy...I remember your mom Tiggy, your grandmother named Tiggy, your great great great grandmother named Tiggy. 

You are a bitch. You were then, you are still. But I respect you. You kept volumes upon volumes of great mafioso history. But being the polite person I am, I always ignored your bitchness and did was I was told. 

I return money I pickpocket, I help out a friend or open a jail on occasion. Heck my mom even threw a jailbreaking olympics party on here.

But if there is one thing I cannot tolerate, it's people who smile to my face then think negative shit behind my back. Family to me is being able to be yourself among them and not be judged. My actions in the streets are alot less disorganized than you might think. 

We've becoming a printing press of mediocrity, maybe it was people like me who get shot and think to ourselves, let's try to change something. 

I joined the crew for my family and friends that I've known, I don't just join a crew for safety. I could careless for it or if I die. I'm brave enough not to cry over ranks. I do know I do anything for my family and it shames me when family turns on me rather than support me even if I'm just poking fun. 

Anyways, I'm going to do something that requires creating something, rather than sit around and complain about why the world isn't turning fast enough for me.

Sophia walks off into the busy Chicago Sidewalk, joint lit, down to the nearest Biscotti Business that never got built because someone never bothered to read their mobmail. 

My mother was not "tiggy". My mother was a proud member of Phil's crew and a phenomenal proctologist named Dr. Drew Peacock.

Yes, I am but the latest descendant in a long-standing bloodline that probably dates back to before you were even twinkle in your daddy's eye that narrowly escaped being a spot in his panties. My family tree contains many names and each was a unique individual with a story to tell. They were not the same person reincarnated as you seem to be hinting at. You've seen one comment in regards to this mediocre drivel you have decided to litter the streets with by me and a FEW others made toward other topics of discussion, yet you judge me based on the blood that flows through my veins and drips from my fingertips every time I break into a post office through the window.

If the best you have to throw at me as calling myself and my predecessors bitches then I have nothing to worry about for the title bitch means that I am as strong as those before me and will pass my strength to those that come after me. Honestly, it's not an insult, it's a term of endearment and a badge that I wear with great pride. So thank you for the compliment, your opinion is about as important to me as that of my ex-husband, who is now sleeping with a school of trout in a mountain lake located in a very remote part of northern Canada.

One thing though.. In regards to the following quotation:

We've becoming a printing press of mediocrity, maybe it was people like me who get shot and think to ourselves, let's try to change something.

Please say you aren't the master of this printing press? I don't think my eyes could handle the "mediocrity" you'd produce if this discussion is any example of your skills.

She turns to walk away, but looks back upon the child with a smile on her face.

Do be sure to have a nice day, I'd hate to see your tears streaming down the gutters because someone hurt your feelings.

Oh no no no..I walk away because I know haters when I seem em. People who's source of entertainment is analyzing (literally) and picking apart every word till they suffocate with a high on condescending. 

She hears more blathering by the idiot now several paces BEHIND her.

Oh, you're leaving? I thought I was leaving, that is why I turned and walked after wishing you a good day. It's ok to be confused, I'm sure it's a state that you live in on a very regular basis...

With that, I have things to do and people to burn. Don't hurt yourself too much when you nail yourself to the cross tonight ok? Again, I'd hate to see your tears streaming down the gutters.

Seeing her bodyguards waving in her direction, one holding a steaming mug of coffee, she quickens her pace and hops into the back of a waiting car.

A printing press of mediocrity?

Obviously this is no way for a respetable mobster to conduct themselves, especially in search of that elusive Made button. Your actions today have shown me all I needed to know about how deserving you really were.

...Why am I talking to a tombstone?

Not everyone is a gifted speaker, so forcing people to stand on the streets and embarrass themselves to earn their button is bad policy. What's the point?  To add a little literary roughage?  Don't get me wrong, inspired contribution is a wonderful thing, but contribution for the sake of contribution is worthless.  And that's precisely what you get by mandating it.

If your goal is to combat mediocrity, then we're on the same page.  However the stories we heard from our ancestors about those days differ radically. My ancestors fought publically against these speech requirements because they watched scores of grumbling Wise Guys unenthusistically go through the motions.  Your grandmother, in my opinion, was remembering the good and forgetting the bad.  I might have painted the same picture if I hadn't so recently read the transcripts of my ancestors' speechs condemning these mandates, so I can't really cast any judgements.

For the record Aves, I have no speech requirement to earn the Made button. Sophia acted on her own accord coming here in an apparent attempt to garner attention.