I am writing this week to in an attempt to find peace after living a life of utter insensitivity. I have come to notice how this horrible trait permeates my existence from day to day and somehow, if I acknowledge these shortcomings, I might find solace.
First, I acknowledge the the sin of reading to my children and grandchildren from Dr. Seuss, Mark Twain and Laura Engles Wilder. I meant well, but know I have damaged them. I also am guilty of serving them pancakes made from Aunt Jemima batter and of all things allowed the use of syrup by the same name. Compounding this egregious conduct, I served Land-o-Lakes butter, an obvious affront to the Inuit population, a group slandered by the moniker “Eskimo”. We have enjoyed far too many Eskimo Pies, a treat contemptuous of the Inuits. I am deeply chagrined by my decision to actually drive on streets named after confederate generals. That was so callous.
On a personal level, I love white meat from the poultry that is a staple in our home. This is an obvious affront to dark meat and should have been obvious. How could I? We are also fond of rice, a carryover from our southern heritage, and have even eaten Uncle Ben’s rice. Oh the magnitude of that transgression. As a kid, I enjoyed a Mr. Potato Head, oblivious to the fact that I was relegating the female gender to second class status. I deeply regret the wonderful float trips on the White River as the Black River was so close. I just was not thinking. Without giving it a thought, I casually pull on Cotten underwear, with little regard for the fact that many years ago, black slaves toiled in fields chopping Cotten for the convenience of people who wear underwear.
The insensitivity goes on. How could I possibly enjoy a slice of cold watermelon? My eyes have been opened to the horrible implications of Father’s Day. Clearly this day should be renamed Hermaphrodite Day, to acknowledge the importance of folks who are genuinely afflicted. No more white sheets for us, only sheets of color. I am repulsed by the many loaves of White Bread on the shelves, with nary a loaf of black bread to be had. In this age of food coloring, you would think this matter easily resolved. I have allowed my insensitivity to show in the preference for white vehicles, probably a genetic flaw as a result of my southern heritage. There are plenty of black, brown and red vehicles around and I should know better.
I have come to appreciate the necessity of renaming the teams that challenge the sensitivities of folks who cannot identify with the racist monikers such as Indians and Chiefs. I would welcome the Cleveland Indians being renamed the Cleveland Multi-Culturals, and the Kansas City Chiefs the Kansas City Amoebas, after a harmless one cell organism not offensive to anyone.
America does not need a bright, capable head of state backed by an energetic congress who makes the people their priority. America needs more sensitivity. The cry of the cancel culture mobs, even though they constitute a minority in our population, needs to be heard. We are at a fork in the road my dear readers. If you choose the left route and do your research, it is likely that you can find a new way to trample the cultural norm and get your three minutes of fame. You will be among the liberals and Democrats that are currently driving the bus. If you go to the right, you can join conservative America that shakes it heads at the ludicrousness of the cancel culture movement. My satire is obvious, and I thank God that I am not a Democrat today. If this movement wasn’t as dangerous as it is, I would need a sedative to quell my hysterical laughter at what is happening.
God help us.
Have a good weekend!