Changing RulesI had a
small surgical procedure on one of my eyes a few hours ago so posting on some of
my blogs is a bit reduced. I put up below something I wrote a few days
agoBack in the '70's, I was with a few friends in a certain club in
Sydney when we were introduced to another club member of Indian origin who was
distinctly dark of skin. His name was "Dan". A jocular friend of mine (now a
retired Professor) shook his hand and said: "You've got a good suntan there,
Dan".
It was obviously a joke and everybody had a laugh, including Dan.
But if my friend had said the same in the America of today, he would probably
have earned Dan a payout of a million dollars from the club.
Going even
farther back, my father liked the music of a black American group of singers who
called themselves "The Inkspots". They did have a very mellow sound. But call a
black American an "Inkspot" today and you would again be likely to make him a
millionaire.
Something else that seems rather strange in retrospect is
that in my grade-school days, the TEACHERS used to call me "The little white
cloud that cries". Why? Did I cry a lot? Not at all. I was good at schoolwork
and was well-regarded by the teachers and generally had little trouble at school
other than boredom.
I was called that name because there was a popular
American "crooner" at that time named Johnny Ray -- a similar name to mine --
and one of his popular songs was "The little white cloud that cries". These days
the teacher would no doubt be disciplined and I might be much richer. But, as it
was, I didn't like popular music much even in those days so I had no clue what
it was all about and just stared blankly.
So nothing whatever came of it
and no harm was done to anybody. I guess that the teachers just thought it was
funny. There was not a lot of entertainment in the small town where I lived in
the 1950's.
And my parents just dismissed it as nonsense too. My father
was a fiery-tempered red-headed lumberjack with quite a reputation as a bar-room
brawler so if he had taken umbrage the teacher concerned would have rued the
day.
I think I spent my childhood very much under my father's aegis
(protection) in the small town of Innisfail where we lived. Everybody knew I was
the son of "Bluey" Ray and nobody wanted to tangle with HIM! Yet he was in his
way also a great gentleman -- in one of those complex bits of reality of the
sort that that Leftists never can understand. For instance, he never once got up
from the dining table without telling my mother how much he enjoyed the meal. I
am kind to women, children and dogs and I am quite sure that I get that from my
father -- though I will never be half the gentleman that he
was.
Something I noticed recently: My local Indian restaurant still has
some small plastic Father Christmases up on its walls. They put them up before
last Christmas but seem not to to realize that you take then down after
Christmas. They are Sikhs by religion but Christmas clearly does not "offend"
them, as Leftists so often claim.