My childhood household was usually polite, absent of offensive language. I thought I was tolerant and broadminded, until I went to college and awakened to exceptions to my rather naive view of human behavior.
Now I am re-examining my youthful presumptions due to the multiple revelations of disdainful and abusive language by public figures, often loosely labeled as not “politically” correct.
Due to limited space, I will address here only my struggle in terms of black racial stereotypes, though I wish many other ethnic pejoratives could vanish, such as wop, chink, gook, dago and injun.
I grew up seeing blackface revues, listening to “Amos ‘n’ Andy,” and finding only one Negro (then an acceptable term) attending my Burbank, California, high school. Unbelievably, Glendale, our neighbor town, by law forbade “Negroes” from spending the night.
I never heard my parents (born in 1908) use a racial slur or refer negatively to black Americans, even in a very different time from now. However, my aunt would admire “colored children—those cute picaninnies,” embarrassing me.
Many of my childhood books would now be considered offensive: I admit to loving “Little Black Sambo” (now unmentionable) and the tales of Uncle Remus. I voraciously read “My Book House,” a collection of 13 books beginning with nursery rhymes, progressing to book 12, a collection of tales from Arthurian sagas, Grimm’s Fairy Tales, and other challenging fiction. A few years ago I bought an ancient set and examined its selections from parental eyes. Certainly they were “Bowdlerized,” very “white,” pedantic, and perhaps stimulated fear of the “different” and thoughts of God and patriotism. As a child, I didn’t realize what I might now find narrow-minded, somewhat offensive and certainly not politically correct.
My favorite childhood movie was Walt Disney’s “Dumbo.” I enjoyed the cute black crows singing on telephone lines, but in today’s culture that scene is viewed as a racist stereotype. I wonder if the new version, due out soon, will alter or edit out those black “soulful” singers.
My father’s favorite piano piece was “Mississippi Mud,” and we all joined in singing those jaunty words. The original lyrics from 1927 mentioned “darkies” happily beating their feet in the mud. Later, that label was changed to “people,” and the song was performed by singers like Lena Horne and Ray Charles, even though most singers knew it was based on a false view of slavery.
Typically, another Disney movie, “Song of the South,” also showed these “joys” of life in the antebellum South. Although I am thrilled at the great jazz/soul heritage that arose from African-American music, a great gift to our country’s culture, I am chagrined by those superficial, glossy images so prevalent in my youth.
We all are subject to unrealized indoctrination: in my case, the attitudes of the 20th Century. Our history is a reality even as we try not to repeat its transgressions. I hope to be PC in the best sense of understanding what my casual words reflect as they are uttered.
