PinkBeltRage
black and white.
17 January 07 ¦ Permalink ¦
I can’t believe I haven’t mentioned the best thing I’ve ever had . . .
Deep fried spicy pickles.
OMG.
They are genius.
I ordered a basket while out with my mom and M and ended up eating the entire appetizer by my lonesome, but hey, I’m not complaining.
They were crispy on the outside, then when you bit into them, they were hot and crunchy and all garlicky and spicy.
I dipped the fried pickle spears in ranch and had to stop myself from calling everyone I knew and telling them about it.
Anyway, those are the delicious pickles in the crappy pic above. It was really hard to get a shot of them. The camera kept wanting to focus on the black and white checker paper in the basket than on the actual yumminess.
Hope everyone had a nice long weekend if you had Monday off for Martin Luther King Day.
I was a kinda surprised when I found out they teach little K-1 kids all about Martin Luther King in elementary school.
I mean, it’s good, but I don’t think M needs to know everything about racism, violence, and slavery right now . I guess I really shield her. She never views the news or anything like that. The TV is never left on to some random news program. In fact, it’s rarely on. I don’t want her to know about terrorists, war, murder, etc…
Maybe I’m overprotective?
I used to refrain from even saying the words “die/dead/dying” up until about age four and a half when it became too hard to prevent others from saying “the batteries are dead”... which believe it or not, is a phrase you say a lot to kids because of all the dang battery operated toys that are out there.
I’ve never discussed anything violent or painful with her.
I mean really, she just turned six.
I guess I felt sad when she wanted to tell me all about MLK and how a “bad white man shotted Martin Luther King and he died” because maybe I realized I could no longer protect her. . .
She had lots of questions about why that man would be so awful and shoot someone for their dreams.
I dunno, I just want her to live for as long as she can in her own little innocent world.
We had this conversation while I braided her hair before school.
I told her if she had any questions about Martin Luther King, and well, anything at all, she should ask me.
She was thoughtful for a moment.
Silent for a rare minute. . .
And then spoke, “Well, I do have one question to you. Can I ask you something?”
I nodded and waited, wondering what it would be.
Maybe something about her worrying about gun violence… and her being “shotdid”... or some bad dream, I don’t know, just her own fears.
But instead she turned to me and stared at me for a bit, then asked, “Mommy, so is it hard for you being black?”
She continued while I stood there stunned and wanting to laugh. She wondered how I dealt with people not liking me and if I had to take a different bus to school when I was a little kid.
I asked her, “Umm … you think I’m black?” and she laughed at me and said “Well, of course you are with your brown skin.” Then she looked at herself and said, “And I’m white… right?”
Anyway, I tried to explain everything to her as best I could before we had to rush off to school, but I still kinda suspect she thinks that I’m a black woman.
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Oh yeah, I podcasted again! This one’s a pretty random podcast. I think.And Oh God… it’s going to cost a lot to see Moz
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*Older articles. Read On!*
— Erica 17 January 07 #
By the by, those Spicy Pickles sound awesome! I’ve got to keep a lookout for those here in New York. They’ve GOT to be around here somewhere!!
— Mooch 17 January 07 #
— bardot 17 January 07 #
I was constantly doing that thing where you have your hands over your eyes but you peek through your fingers. I tried to cover my ears with my hunched shoulders, but nothing could stifle the tinny high-pitched screams produced on 70’s TV’s and 80’s video-tape.
Then her boyfriend would do cruel things like drive us through the local graveyard at night with the headlights blinking on and off imitating Freddy Kreuger.
And when the news was on in the afternoon my mother would lament to us about the impending doom of world war three, and the apocalypse. Then there were all those Nazi documentaries she made us watch…
Needless to say, I had a hard time sleeping until about the age of 12.
— ali b 17 January 07 #
Back when I was her age, I remember telling my classmates I was filipino, only to hear them giggle and say there’s no such thing as that. Totally unrelated to your story, but I thought I’d share anyway. :)
— lexinthecity 17 January 07 #
when i was like 7 or 8, i had a friend from brazil, who i referred to as “black.” kids are funny.
— maggie 17 January 07 #
— tedfoo 18 January 07 #