Monday, November 24, 2008
A Conversation with Grandma
mi: Gram what are you doing?
Gram: I'm working so hard. I'm getting this dirt behind the house all flat.
mi: Why? You look trashed. You should go in the house.
Gram: Well, the dirt needs to be straight. That's how I like it. And I'm sweatin' like a colored boy at election.
mi: Gram, I think it's colored boy at a lynchin'.
Gram: No, that's not how it goes.
mi: Gram, why would a colored boy be sweating at an election? Is he afraid Abraham Lincoln might be elected? Don't you think it's more likely that a colored boy would be sweating at a lynchin'?
Gram: Well, I don't care, that's just how it's said.
mi: And by the way Gram, we don't really say colored boy anymore.
Gram: Okay, what do we say?
mi: Well, the p.c. people like to say African American... but I just say black.
Gram: Used to you couldn't say black.
mi: I think that was blackie... but black is fine.
Gram: Okay black then. I'm sweatin' like a black boy at election.
mi: No one's sweatin' anymore gram, Obama is President now. Time to come up with a new one.
A Conversation at the Pool
My convo with gram reminded me of the pool convo, which is almost as good. We were at our outdoor neighborhood pool a few years ago. No one was ever there because it was a retirement community and it's wrong for old people to swim. Their hair never recovers.
Anyway, this boy, maybe 7 or 8, comes in with his grandma.
boy to Devon: Are you Italian?
Devon: No, I'm African (because poor devon has no idea what he is, he's so not p.c.)
boy: Wow, do you get to see a lot of elephants and giraffes?
boy: Oh, I'm Italian. That's why I have brown skin too. (which by the way, wasn't even close to Devon's)