Ya know, I wouldn't mind someone thinking I'm a creepy-assed cracker. The average thug would keep his distance. Too bad Obama's son, No Limit N-, didn't have the presence of mind to do the same with Zimmerman.
My Worth , Your Words
Alright, let me get this straight…
First, If I am black in the fifties, I am a negro. If I am black in the sixties I am Afro-American. If I am black in the 1970’s and 1980’s, I am black, and if I am black in the present century, I am an African-American. (It doesn't matter that I cannot tell you which country I am from on the continent of Africa, just that I am African-American and, (yes), Africa is a continent. Got it.
Second, In order not to be considered a racist bigot, all white Americans must be “flexible” and allow for the various, bizarre, and ever-changing labels of my race to change at my whim. Oh, and incidentally, I can call myself and others of my race N—g-r but you can be prosecuted for doing it.
There, now I have it straight.
More than 150 years has passed since the abolition of slavery and you have not settled on what you want to be called. Words give you a sense of worth and so you play the race card from a very worn deck. You do this over and over.
Please, just refer to me as a “white, honky cracker”. (Or worse, if you wish.) It doesn't bother me at all. No man can take my dignity away with words.