You’ve probably heard of the infamous “burning out” of Dave Chappelle after his success on Comedy Central. When interviewed by Oprah he gave a bit of context to why he so abruptly walked away form the million dollar contracts.
One particular sketch still disturbs Dave today. The skit was about a pixie (played by Dave) who appeared in black face, which Dave describes as the “visual personification of the n-word.”
“There was a good-spirited intention behind it,” Dave says. “So then when I’m on the set, and we’re finally taping the sketch, somebody on the set [who] was white laughed in such a way—I know the difference of people laughing with me and people laughing at me—and it was the first time I had ever gotten a laugh that I was uncomfortable with. Not just uncomfortable, but like, should I fire this person?”
This past weekend, I went to see the movie “Chronicle” with my wife. At the beginning, already annoyed by the heavily teen audience with their texting, giggling and talking as the movie started. The movie is about 3 guys who stumble upon some mysterious object, and obtain special powers. It’s very honest in that they don’t try and be super hero’s. They’re just teens, messing around and having fun, until someone ultimately goes to the dark side.
Well, before that happens a scene plays out that I’ve seen in the trailer for months. The black kid in the trio moves a woman’s car with telekenis across a parking lot. When the woman returns to find her car missing he says “It really was the black guy this time.” When I saw it on the trailer, I laughed. When I saw it in the movie, I laughed. But these kids… 99 percent of which are suburban white kids, in a town with less than 4% poverty and a median household income of over $175K… COULD. NOT. STOP. LAUGHING.
As my wife and I chuckled, the humor faded when we realized the intensity with which the audience found it funny. I thought to myself, “ok… yeah, your laughing too fucking hard.” That’s a Dave Chappelle moment, when you realize as a minority people are laughing AT you, and not WITH you.
In our never ending reach for a post racial society, minorities wether it be racial, gender or otherwise based tend to poke fun at the elephant in the room. It’s natural. The goal, to laugh at the stereotype. Mark it as stupid and not worth serious thought. But occasionally that attempt to poke fun backfires, and one has to reevaluate.
My 3 year old recently started Gymnastics. Her excitement aside it was visibly difficult for her. The Gym, which has trained 3 Olympic gymnasts is full of the typical perfectionist, annoying, stage moms you’d expect. So my expectations were low from the start. Her teachers are two young girls who seem to chat amongst themselves more than giving patient direction to the kids.
2 weeks in, my 3 year old daughter says she wants to quit because “It’s hard”. Quitting isn’t acceptable at any age, but then again, her teachers are bitches. So I’m thinking about letting her slide. She later tells her mother “Mom, my thighs are fat.”
Ok. Now I’m pissed.
But, we send her back. On a different day with a different teacher. This time a 72 year old Russian man. He quickly gives her a nick name “Mishka”. My daughter jumps, bounces, balances, tumbles and smiles. She comes home and tells me how much she likes gymnastics, and that yes “it’s fun.”
My take away. Fuck quitting, and as Mo’Nique says “Skinny bitches are evil.”
My son is preparing to graduate Kindergarten next week. Where he will have to perform “Si Tú Estás Feliz” as well as the Pledge of Allegiance. Last night he practiced… Personally I think it’s awesome. But make sure you listen to the end… because I’m epically – hilariously – offensive. As always.
I spent Easter Sunday, playing with JavaScript and watching movies. When the family returned from church we headed to my mother in law’s to have Easter dinner and a few drinks. No more than 5 minutes into the drive my 5 year old asks “Dad, why don’t you like Church?”.
Obviously when asked, the misses bombed. So I fixed his understanding. I replied simply “Daddy went to church A LOT as a kid, and I mean A LOT. Now, daddy just needs a break. I’ll go back… when I’m ready to.”
My son, in his infinite wisdom continues “Oh ok. It’s like us, we used to go to McDonalds and now we’re taking a break. At school, I played Transformers a lot but took a break and now we play Power Rangers!”
My 5 year old son says his favorite subjects in school are
Art
Science
Math
Reading
… but wants to do more Science.
When asked what he wants to get better at he says, Reading. When asked what he’s best at he says Art… and Math.
Surprisingly, he’s right on all accounts. Though personality wise he’s much more like my wife, educationally he’s just like his dad. Art brings me pleasure but I thrive on logic.
My 5 year old son is a creature of habit. Dare I say, bordering on obsessive at times. My wife typically reads him his stories, goes over his prayers and consoles him when feeling sad. Not because I don’t like to do these things, but because he flat our prefers her over me.
Last night, I had to fill in. Read his story of choice and proceeded to ask him what things that day made him happy, sad, mad, or worried. He replied in order “Getting a sticker for being good at school, mom not reading me a story, nothing and nothing.” You catch that. The only thing that made him sad enough to mention it was mom not reading him a story. I was ready to chock it up to ritual but then asked:
Me: Son, do you like dad?
Son: Kind of.
Me: Why only kind of?
Son: Because… it’s my choice.
Me: Is there anything I can do to help you like me more?
Son: …. No.
Me: Do you love dad?
Son: … Yes.
I have to try real hard to not feel like complete crap after this conversation. Specially when mom checked in on him and reiterated that he was not happy with Dad putting him to bed. I’ll keep trying, I know it’s a phase. I just want it to hurry up and be over.
My friend’s dad was in Vietnam. His primary job was to collect the dead. He’s bat shit crazy now. Saying “Thanks for your sacrifice.” just doesn’t seem to do him justice.
For 4 years I walked 6 blocks past the homeless and the hungry, over broken bottles and used needles, in my pressed Catholic School uniform to school. One day, somehow, coming home with a used syringe in my pocket. Occasionally a friend and I would ride in the back of his mom’s pickup truck avoiding such situations.
Thoughts of those days are filled will memories of paddles, rulers and thick pencils being hurled my way by the teachers, principles and Brothers of the Church. Today I found out that my elementary school “Holy Redeemer” has closed it doors. Interesting timing, as my wife and I discuss where to send our son for 1st grade in another year.
This news still saddens me. It’s apart of my history, gone. But hey, they can’t beat any more kids though!
