Racism & Pizza

It probably goes without saying that my kids have put on displays of racism in the past.


Granted, that’s not what they had in mind at the time of their inadvertent indiscretion, but that doesn’t matter in today’s world.


When Junior was all but 2 or 3, one of his favorite movies was Space Jam featuring Michael Jordan, the Loony Tunes, and a brilliant piece by Bill Murray.


At one point, we had a pizza delivered to the domain.  The young gentlemen who brought us the pizza had a name tag sporting “Michael”, and a skin tone similar to that of Michael Jordan.


As I took delivery of the pizza, Junior stood in the door, watching the whole event.  Once I had pizza in hand and had paid for it, I said “Thanks Michael”.


As I closed the door, Junior looked up to me and excitedly announced “That was Michael Jordan!”


A few years later, Juniorette found herself in her own version of catalyzing the stereotype when she uttered the term “Joo Joo Jam Boy”.  What a horrible thing for a sweet young Shirley Temple clone to say.  The term was so specific and unique that it must have been heard from adults in her life, such as Wifey and me.


Surprisingly enough, Juniorette hadn’t heard that term before.  She came up with it on her own in her own little way of negotiating around a toddler’s speech impediment to say “ginger bread boy”.


If my kids were 15 years younger and had displayed the audacity to utter those statements with the most innocent of intentions, Wifey and I would have gotten phone calls at work from the principal’s office.  Today’s news is littered with stories all the time reporting of colossal displays of school administration officials abandoning common sense in favor of a zero tolerance for all that is politically incorrect.


Somewhere between Gen X and Gen Y, some buffoon muddied the waters on the practice of rearing kids to the point where today’s short buses are the standard of tomorrow.  That of course leaves Smart Cars as the short bus of the future.

I don’t really have any additional points here.  I was just trying to work the term “Joo Joo Jam Boy” into a blog because Juniorette was mercilessly reminded of it by one of her uncles this last weekend.


Here’s to Labor Day get gatherings.


Randy Tharp

TharpSter is a husband to one woman, a father to two kids, a master to two dogs, an occasional cubical occupant, and unable to make up his mind on an adequate theme for this website.

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