Strange Fruit

Mrs. B went to an anti-racism workshop and brought me home a t-shirt that advocates the cause. On the first day I decide to wear it, my four-year old son K refers to a young boy who was riding with him on a carnival ride as a "black boy."

Wha? I say to him. I told K that we refer to a boy as a "boy"- not as a "black boy."

K backpedals and says that he meant the boy was riding in a black car. I didn't entirely believe him.

Sigh. It starts so early. I'm blaming that damn YMCA bus where he also learned the word "booger" and a bastardized version of "Play that Funky Music, White Boy."