Canceling Our Culture

I looked up the definition of “woke” online. This is what I found.

Woke means being conscious of racial discrimination in society and other forms of oppression and injustice. 

If it also means we need to correct everything some think needs correcting, I’m not woke.  I don’t support the rebranding of  Aunt Jemima Pancake Mix and Uncle Ben’s Rice. The American Library Association’s dropping Laura Ingalls Wilder’s name from its writing award because they decided her writings were insensitive to the black community accomplished nothing. Hasbro’s dropping of “Mr.” from it’s  potato head line is just nuts.  Although I never met Theodor Seuss Geisel, his Dr. Seuss books were not evil attempts at corrupting our youth with demeaning images.  If Disney’s recent warnings regarding eighteen episodes of the Muppets for “negative depictions of cultures” is the way we’re headed, look for such a warning on all statues deemed inappropriate, yet still stand.  We  do have issues in American society, but canceling our culture won’t solve our problems.

I became a cub scout as soon as I could join.  Later, I became a boy scout.  No evil befell me because I identified with boys, unless you count our two minstrel shows.  I served as the interlocutor in our fourth grade production.  Gary Overbey assumed the role in the fifth grade.  The interlocutor was the only white performer.  Everyone else appeared in black face. Both shows were performed for our family and friends.  The audiences laughed and clapped for our song and dance routines, banjo playing,  and the corny jokes we told.  We were each being the best Al Jolsen we could be.  They were enjoying their time not because we were making fun of the black community, but because we were having fun.  We could have been clowns or cowboys.   We would have been just as entertaining if blackface was not a part of the show.

For most of my life I’ve spoken “using dialects”.  I’ve done my best to speak with Irish, Italian, and Hispanic accents. Sometimes I stumble and mix them.  I have a “go to joke” using each one. I mean no disrespect.

Flip Wilson had a comedy show in the early seventies.  He took on several personas.  My favorite was Geraldine, a brash, outspoken woman with a boyfriend named Killer.  I watched religiously and did my best to speak like Flip.  Our junior high school staff put on shows for our students just before each Christmas break.  It was great fun and the kids enjoyed seeing us in a different light. I served as master of ceremonies for one of our shows dressed as Geraldine.  I did my best to imitate Flip’s version of her.  I didn’t see my actions as being disrespectful to the black community, but rather, my interpretation of Flip.  I’ve heard it said that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.  That was my intent.

I had a dream the other night.  I was in a grocery store buying a box of cereal. There were several sizes and shapes, but all the labels looked the same. I was confused and frustrated, so I tore into a box.  The first box contained Cheerios. I found Frosted Flakes in another and Froot Loops in a third.  While the contents differed, the outer packaging was identical.

I’m not sure what my takeaway should be.  Those who interpret dreams may find something profound, but as for me, perhaps its what’s inside that makes us who we are and what really counts.  Changing the packaging, focusing on the missteps of the past, tearing down statues, and rewriting our history are futile attempts at making the world a better place.

Respecting our unique characteristics may.