When was that Selma Alabama memorial march thing? Some day last week? How fucking adorably ironic. Martin Luther King is spinning in his grave.
I am through. I will never ever again proselytize about accepting people for their own self worth or recognize effort and ability without prejudice or distinction. This is the straw that broke my less than perfect back.
– BizPac Review http://ow.ly/K4prT
Hey. Guess what? If you didn’t notice yet, I have no struggle at all having conversations with people who don’t “look like me”. Doesn’t that sound more like this prick has a personal problem instead of a RACIAL problem? But then, there is that BLAME thing going on.
This is the high school my daughter and I graduated from. When I was there, there was one black student. Her name was Faith Julian. She was Dr. Percy Julian’s (google) daughter. They burned a cross on his lawn when he moved into Oak Park, Illinois. That town contains a larger concentration of sanctimonious dickheads than any other city in the world. My dad was a cop there. I moved back when I got married. The mayor was corrupt. He was paying his extramarital sweetie over a million dollars a year as a computer consultant. I am getting ahead of myself.
Faith Julian was a sweet, friendly, unpretentious girl despite being ungodly wealthy. She would walk into one of the school’s enormous, thronged girl’s bathrooms and a hush would fall. I was a senior when she started there. She was a year or two behind. As far as I recall I am the only person who ever spoke to her in a social situation at that time. But everyone knew it would be me. I would talk to anyone.
When I went to St. Mel’s grammar school, there was one black girl. Her name was Hazel. Her parents were rich. We could tell by her coat. It was an Irish neighborhood where most of our coats had too short sleeves and were threadbare hand-me-downs. Hers was tan with a brown velvet collar and a fucking matching hat.
We walked into Madigan’s department store and my two and a half year old brother saw his first black person. I will never forget the look on his face. My mom had to explain his reaction to me.
I would love to tell you the story about why all the parks in my subdivision have been remodeled in the last ten years and there is no longer a basketball hoop to be found. (I now live way North of Oak Park. When I moved out 25 years ago, my real estate taxes were over $8,000 for a forty two foot lot.)
On the stairwell at my high school there was a huge picture of some guy named McDaniel who founded the school. I said he was my great grandpa. Maybe he was. I hope that picture was taken down before thugs covered it with obscene graffiti.
Oh. Here is another ironic aside. In Baton Rouge Louisiana, there is an old plantation that is kept as a historical site for tourists and stuff. It is called The McDaniel Plantation.
In college, I went to visit my then boyfriend in Spring Hill, Alabama. The Airport was weathered in so we had to take a bus from New Orleans to Mobile. I saw a drinking fountain that had a sign Colored Only. Not a photo. Not a reproduction. A flaking, old, white enamel sign above a drinking fountain.
Why does not someone talk to this current school principal, who is principal for the same stupid reason Barack Obama is president, and mention casually, with maybe a sixteen pound sledge hammer, that he is promoting and fueling racial divisiveness? Why are we so FUCKING scared to speak up? Why do we give stupid assholes like Al Sharpton air time and print inches?
I am through with tolerance. I sneer at it. It is all about me now. Me and MY affinity group.
Son of a BITCH. This is SOOO fucking outrageous. I cannot believe it happened. I cannot believe it was allowed. If I was a 99 pound sophomore and he barred me from MY auditorium in MY school, I would have kicked the mother fucker in the balls. Or do “they” not have any?
Unfollow me. I don’t fucking care.
Actually, I only EVER pretended to care.
Photo attribution: Idon’tgiveaflyingfuck.org.