For those of you who missed Part I (which appeared on my social feed at Not The Bee in a very brief post), permit me a moment to reprint that first. I will admit. It was a proud moment.
Part I
My 11-year-old had his first day of school yesterday and for reasons that are not clear, one of his teachers asked everybody to stand up, say their name, and then say what race their parents were.
When it was his turn, he said his name, and then this happened (as recounted to me by my son):
Moron Jr: I don’t know what race my parents are.
Teacher: You don’t know what race they are?
Moron Jr: No, but they are from Pennsylvania.
That was not coached. He was being sincere.
Sorry Kendi, THAT’S not being racist.
The kid is 11 by the way.
This was a week ago, and I had noted at the time that this teacher bore watching.
Well, that was an easy call.
“That teacher is talking about race again,” my son said this week. I answered excitedly, “Oh, is she? Tell me all about it!”
I know I should be angry. This is the kind of nonsense that typically makes me angry, but since his response last week I’ve started greeting these episodes like a UFC title match, a battle of wits and cunning, and yes, a Woke Teacher vs. My Based Kid.
So, yeah, I’m all in on this now.
As my son explained the latest incident, they had to fill out these wheels they had been handed to determine their “identities.” While there can be relatively innocent versions of this, I’ve seen these identity wheels before and they are exercises in the Marxist oppressor/oppressed paradigm in which you find out which side of the class/race struggle you are on.
Mercifully, these particular wheels were blank and the kids were asked questions to fill them in, so it could have been worse. A lot worse. Like, “Wheel of Power/Privilege” worse.
One of the things the students were asked to put down was what holidays you celebrate. I told my son that was a way to determine everyone’s religion without actually asking which even in my woke county might be looked upon askance.
And sure enough, he put down “Christmas,” and his Muslim friend put down “Ramadan.” In fact, that friend asked the teacher if it was okay to put down Ramadan and she answered enthusiastically: “Yes! Of course!”
Of course.
There were other more benign questions, like what do you do for fun, your favorite subject, and so on.
And, yes, they were also asked to put down their race, like that’s a totally normal thing people would do now.
So, we talked about it.
Planet Moron: So what did you put down?
Moron Jr.: I put down I don’t know.
Planet Moron: Good.
Moron Jr.: Well, I don’t.
Planet Moron: Most people would say “white,” although we’re a little more complicated than that, just so you know. [I have told him this before, but he’s resistant to the label which I can’t love enough. I’m the guy who routinely chooses “prefers not to answer” when filling out forms.]
Moron Jr.: Well, if she calls me out again on this, I’m going to say, “Miss Teacher, what does my race have to do with anything? Can’t we all just be people enjoying school and learning together? What does my race have to do with learning?”
Planet Moron: You have my permission to say that.
Moron Jr.: Really?
Planet Moron: As long as you are respectful and courteous, yes.
Moron Jr.: Okay.
Planet Moron: You might get in trouble [meaning with the teacher], but you have my permission.
Moron Jr.: All right.
I’ve never told him to say those things using those words and yet he did.
It reminded me of my own childhood. I don’t recall a single moment that my father had to sit me down and say, “don’t be a racist.” It never had to be explained to me. It was simply understood. I’m assuming, although I don’t recall anything specific, that through my parents’ deeds, conversations, commentary on the news (I grew up during the civil rights movement) I just took it all in. I knew other people were racist, and I knew it was wrong. I literally can’t remember a single moment of my life when I thought it was okay to think lesser of someone because of their race.
And, I guess, through some similar process of intellectual osmosis, my son has realized the same thing, internalized it to the point that he instinctively, and quite viscerally, understands it’s wrong for a teacher to have people “identify” as a race as opposed to just identify as an individual, or to identify as the things that really matter, the things you have some choice over, like your what you do for fun and what your favorite subject is.
Should it come time, I don’t know if he’ll follow through and say what he wants to say, and that’s okay. He’s a kid, but he’s stood his ground before and I have no doubt he will push back again to the extent he is comfortable.
And I’ve got his back on that, as should we all.
Such a great story. I love your son. Out of the mouths of babes…truth💝