Today it is – yes – a double header of blogginess to make up for leaving all of you bereft for so long. I couldn’t resist this little tidbit that’s been rolling around in my head about the Honorable Mr. Obama (as I intend to refer to him as long as humanly possible).
I’d like to begin by saying that I probably will not vote for him, at least not at this juncture (actually, this is the first time I get to vote, so I’m just excited about saying things like that). We shall see if his rhetoric shapes up into something worthwhile. Eh.
Also, warning to the prudish: the following blog contains several words with aster***s concealing some of their letters in a vain effort to prevent you from discerning that they are socially unacceptable. All these bad words were originally said by the Honorable Mr. Obama in his book, but I am not as brave as he, and have starred them for my own protection. Just so you know.
Anyway, my Modern Lit class elected (har-har) to read his memoir Dreams from My Father, despite the fact that it is thick enough to fully function as a doorstop, and despite the fact that it is not actually literature at all. None of us got all the way through it (it is a small class, to be fair), but I, ending at chapter five, 91 pages, suspect I made it the farthest of anyone, including the professor.
On page 80, Obama relates one of the more jarring stories of race contained in the book (or at least in the first 91 pages):
Our assistant basketball coach, a young, wiry man from New York with a nice jumper, who, after a basketball game with some talkative black men, had muttered within earshot of me and three of my team-mates that we shouldn’t have lost to a bunch of n*****s; and who, when I told him – with a fury that surprised even me – to shut up, had calmly explained the apparently obvious fact that “there are black people, and there are n*****s. Those guys were n*****s.”
Obama, perhaps because of his background, goes on to explain what few people do: that the cookie crumbles both ways, and to use the term “white folks” as a code for “bigot” can be just as dangerous. But then he makes the most amazing proclamation in the entire book.
“There are white folks, and then there are ignorant mother*****s like you,” I had finally told the coach before walking off the court that day.
This whole post has, in fact, been a long set-up to a joke.
A huge preamble so that I could leave you with this thought: if this were the Honorable Mr. Obama’s campaign slogan, wouldn’t you vote for him? Because I think I’d be obligated to, just to give him creativity points.
It seems to me that it would fit on a bumper sticker almost perfectly:
“There are white folks,
and then there are ignorant mother*****s like you.