Did This Asshole Really Just Say That?
I find myself saying this about 20 times a day now, and I don't like it.
It seems like there is no shortage of stupidity these days. Elitists are always a key point of disgust for me, but this new breed of foot-in-the-mouth, I-wasn’t-aware-that-was-offensive douchebags make me want to gag.
Look, if you’re so out of touch with the times that you don’t understand it isn’t PC for you to call black people “colored” and question if they knew how to properly wash their hands in order to prevent the spread of disease…um, Grandpa, 1957 called and they need their racist back.
I have always been aware of the fact that I am a very progressive woman when it comes to matters of race relations. By that I mean that I really don’t give 2 flying damns what color you are if you’re good people, then baby, you’re good people. Sadly, over the years, I have found it is my own color that most often points that judging ass finger at me. They love to tell me how I should act, with whom I should commiserate, how I ought to be talking.
Usually middle-aged white men, actually. You know, because they understand so much about being a woman, a minority, or anything other than a pompous entitled asshole who stands in front of medical colleagues, more than a couple black, and calls them colored.
Look, I don’t remember much of the old south mentality, but I will tell you this. In 1994, Sherrod McGrady and I were at our 8th-grade spring dance. (Sherrod is Tracy McGrady’s younger brother). Bear in mind, Sherrod and I have known each other since knee-high, and we’ve always been friends. Still are. We were dancing, not this new school shit, like 2 feet apart, not touching at all. We were ejected from that dance.
Again, I said 1994. Not 1974. Right here in the same place I grew up in. There has always been an undercurrent of racism, and it’s there if you look for it. However, I never did. I also don’t tolerate it in my presence, but I never actively sought to stand against it until it came to my door. Then, of course, I answered.
If you can’t hear racism knocking when a fucking senator feels comfortable insulting black people’s hygiene and calling them colored, you’re fucking lying to yourself. Get in the back with Grandpa, I’m dropping you fuckers back at 1957.
Here here. Just because it makes you feel better to pretend racism isn’t racism doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.
Don’t hold back, tell them how you really feel April!