I am of a certain age. If you are not of a certain age, there is a good chance I remind you of your racist uncle. There is no need to feel awkward. I’ve been in this age group for quite some time, and I accept the fact that I bear a striking resemblance to a lot of what’s wrong in America. I’m white. I’m middle-aged. And I’m tall.
In short, I look like a lot of the bad guys in Spike Lee’s BlacKkKlansman. Or the villains in the most recent Purge movie. Or 99% of the Republican Party.
Your racist uncle probably has many theories about race, women and gender. Despite never doing any real research on said topics or publishing in an accredited journal (his Facebook comments about your sister’s new girlfriend doesn’t count), he’s got confidence in his own expertise. After all, watching Tucker Carlson five days a week must count for something.
And whatever higher power we can agree on as my witness, I’ve never been able to watch more than five minutes of Tucker Carlson. Any more than a five-minute clip of listening to Tucker’s dog whistle makes me question if we should let the platypuses be the dominant species on the planet and see what they can do with the place. I suspect there would be a lot more peace, love and duck-billed beaver tails.
But I digress.
Your uncle’s theories on race probably center on the best information memes have to offer. Did you know Africans AND the Irish were slaves in America? If you haven’t seen that bit of internet wisdom, then you’re missing a peach of a history lesson. After citing relevant sources (strongly-felt prejudices), the meme explains that while the Irish pulled themselves up by their bootstraps, the progeny of African slaves want handouts.
That line of reasoning harmonizes quite well with the “All Lives Matter” song your uncle knows quite well. Even that third verse celebrating slavery. Did you notice the section that states Black Lives Matter is just Karl Marx’s way of keeping us divided, while Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez eats babies and crucifies Exxon-Mobile?
Awards should be given for the brave who question pearls of wisdom like that at the dining room table. You may say, “I wouldn’t call it bravery. Rather, it’s my rage taking the steering wheel and driving into family drama, and whatever’s being served for dinner.” More than one family-friendly Taco Tuesday was cast into chaos when a brave nephew or niece insisted on responding, “White lives are the ones benefiting from a society built on the systematic abuse of people who have black skin. Please pass the guacamole.”
Your uncle doesn’t need the internet to tell him what’s what regarding women. You see, he knows all there is to know about vaginas, reproductive health and the clitoris because it’s all self-evident. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Babies come from mommies. And women need the guidance of someone with a penis. That is the way nature intended it to be. After all, if men weren’t the ones meant to be in charge, why are they the ones who dominate football?
And that story about 12-year-old Max educating your uncle on where the clitoris is? Well, that’s just an urban myth. You probably heard about that on the Rachel “Wrongow” Show on MSNBC.
Men are men and women are women. Your uncle is happy to tell you that transgendered is a made-up word. There’s no substance to that term. Transgenderism was created by liberals who aren’t satisfied with stealing your money. They want to replace your son Andrew with someone named Andrea.
Somehow that makes sense when you think about it, your uncle will say. The government is turning red- blooded all-American men into the French. That’s right, it has to be said. If things don’t change, every soldier is going to surrender to the Germans. And there won’t even be a war on.
Ultimately, I’m not complaining about looking like your racist uncle. The wind of privilege blows at my back whether I like it or not. Despite my undeserved position in American society, I am anticipating the day when everyone, regardless of color, will fear the police.