“What Color Is Your Teacher?”

–I remember this story of Fred Reed’s from before, but I’m happy he’s told it again here:

In middle or high-school, my younger daughter brought home a chemistry worksheet with common chemical terms badly misspelled–on the order of “pollyefflememe.” Clearly the woman who wrote this was pig-ignorant and lacked even the minimal self-respect to check. In the third grade I could spell “polyethylene” because I had Gilbert’s fifty-bottle chemistry set and liked funny chemical words. This creature was “teaching” my daughter?

Without thinking I asked, “What color is your teacher?”

Anguished “Daaaaaaaaaady!”

She had made the connection. Everybody has. You just can’t say it or don’t want to admit it. You can’t criticize the blacks, because den you be ray cyst, so you can’t criticize the whites, who aren’t all that much better, so you have protected, unionized mediocrity at best and often way worse who, lacking the intelligence, education, or culture to value actual learning, instead play psychobabble feel-good games. A country deserves what it tolerates.

–So true about blacks.  And we shouldn’t tolerate it.

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