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Baa Baa Blue Sheep?
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2006
One thing most people don't know about me is that two of my children are adopted from Haiti, and the other is from Bolivia. Needless to say, this draws more than a few stares whenever we go out in public. (We just stare back.)
We always talk to our kids about how special they are, and how they should be proud of being black or Hispanic. But I always wondered if Youngest Daughter was actually paying attention, or just nodding to make me shut up.
I finally got my answer a few months ago. Our family had been on a small road trip, and had stopped at a coffee shop on the way home. A black woman walked into the store and headed for the register. Youngest Daughter ran up to her, screeched to a halt six inches away, and then – in case no one in the place realized it – shouted at the top of her lungs, "MOMMY, SHE'S BLACK LIKE ME!!"
My wife apologized, but the woman laughed and said she had done the same thing when she was that age. Youngest Daughter just beamed. Needless to say, there is no question about her pride anymore.
So I was stunned at the recent news out of Oxfordshire, England: British educators are changing the children's tune "Baa Baa Black Sheep" to avoid offending black people.
An article in the Manchester (England) Evening News reports that administrators of two nursery schools – the Family Centre in Abingdon and Sure Start Centre in Sutton Courteney – have changed the song to "Baa Baa Sad Sheep."
According to Stuart Chamberlain, manager of Sure Start, they're changing the song because "we take an equal opportunity approach to everything we do. . . (n)o one should feel pointed out because of their race, gender, or anything else."
In other words, if they sing a song that has the word "black" in it, black people might be offended? Does this mean, if we follow their logic, we should do away with Black History Month and Women's History Month? No more single gender bathrooms? After all, we don't want girls to feel "pointed out" because they don't have a stand-up urinal in their bathroom, do we?
In an effort to be inclusive, they also sing about happy, bouncing, pink, blue, black, white, and other kinds of sheep. I don't know how to break this to Mr. Chamberlain, but there aren't a lot of blue-furred creatures in the animal kingdom, so it's not so much inoffensive as it is wildly inaccurate.
This wouldn't be the first time the song came under PC attack in England. In 2000, the Birmingham City Council banned the song altogether, saying it was racist and portrayed negative stereotypes. It didn't matter that the song was actually written in 1744 to complain about taxes on wool exports. In fact, the only people it would have offended were the pro-tariff nationalists, and they had been dead for 256 years, so I don't think it mattered to them at all.
It didn't matter to the black parents in Birmingham either. They said the whole idea was ludicrous, so the City Council rescinded the ban.
Unfortunately, this lunacy isn't limited to the British. Apparently, US-based children's singer Peter Moses has committed the same heresy. A few years ago, he released a children's CD that included his own version of "Baa Baa Sad Sheep." One would assume he chose this title for the same "you can't say 'black' because it could upset black people" Political Correctness that is currently throttling Oxfordshire nursery schools. But his hypersensitivity is surprising, given some of the other song titles on the CD.
The song "Two Little Blackbirds" wasn't changed to "Sadbirds," for example. He included "I've Been Workin' On the Railroad," even though it could upset people who work for the airline industry, ocean cruise ships, or highway maintenance workers.
"There Was an Old Lady" and "This Old Man" made the album, even though "seniors" or "elderly" are now the preferred terms. People with very large ears might be offended by "Do Your Ears Hang Low?" He even risked alienating animal rights activists with "Bear Went Over the Mountain" and "Eensy Weensy Spider."
"Clap, Clap, Clap Your Hands" could be upsetting to people with poor motor skills, and "Way Up High" might frighten the bejeezus out of people with a fear of heights.
And don't get me started about "Ten Little Indians."
I can only imagine the frustration some people must feel. My daughter is proud of who she is, and loves the color of her skin. To change a song just because it uses the word "black" only teaches shame and embarrassment, not pride and excitement. So I hope the Oxfordshire schools and Moses rethink their Politically Correct song titles before Youngest Daughter starts writing her own songs
She's already come up with "Eensy Minded Morons."
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Erik Deckers
(published week of May 5th, 2006)
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Billiards Is Not a Sport Either
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2006
Dear Fox Sports Network:
I've been a lifelong sports fan, and watch most sporting events whenever I can. Football, baseball, basketball, soccer, even curling. I've got all the sports networks set up on my remote like a telephone speed dial, and I read programming schedules the way baseball geeks pore over box scores.
But I don't watch FSN very often, and that's why I'm writing to you.
I was wondering if you could possibly, you know, when you get the chance, could you maybe, well, show some sports?
It's not that I don't like what you broadcast, it's just that -- alright, I don't like what you broadcast.
One would assume by the name of your network that you actually show sporting events. Of course, one can also assume that MTV actually shows music videos, but MTV hasn't shown a video since 1997. Instead, it's nothing but back-to-back episodes of Road Rules, Real World Des Moines, and Punk'd ("this week, Ashton Kutcher punks Bruce Willis by marrying his ex-wife. Hilarity ensues.")
The problem is, I can go for days without seeing any national sporting events on FSN. While I can watch Major League Baseball on other sports channels, and even on some cable networks, you guys rarely show baseball. Even Oprah's Oxygen Network carries more baseball games than you.
Granted, you did show some Indiana Pacers games this year, but this was a sucky season for them, so that one was pretty much a wash.
What does that leave us? There's Pride Fighting, which is nothing more than organized brawling. If I wanted to watch two guys savagely beat the crap out of each other, I'd lock Bill O'Reilly and Al Franken in the same room with a single microphone.
You also give us four showings of The Best Damn Sports Show Period throughout the day. I admit this beats ESPN, which broadcasts its one-hour SportsCenter show four times in a row. But you need to realize that if no one watched BDSSP at 9 pm, we're not going to watch it at 11 pm, 12 pm, or 7:00 the next morning. Give it a rest.
You also provide us with hour after hour of Championship Poker repeats. Not the live events, mind you, but REPEATS of tournaments that happened weeks or even months ago.
And don't even get me started about the incongruity of poker on a sports network. A bunch of sweaty fat guys staring at a deck of cards does not constitute a sport. If it did, Computer Solitaire would be an Olympic event, and I'd be on the front of a Wheaties box.
(While we're on the subject, rolling a 12-pound ball at a bunch of heavy wooden pins is not a sport. Throwing small pointy sticks at a round stationary target is not a sport. And, I hate to say it, but driving really fast around an oval is not a sport either. If that were true, I would be an amateur of some renown, and my daily commute would constitute a strenuous workout.)
So what gives you the right to call yourselves a sports network? In one broadcast day last week, I counted -- no kidding -- four hours of Best Damn Sports Show, two hours of championship poker repeats, two-and-a-half hours of infomercials, and one hour of dart championships (also a repeat). No baseball, no basketball, nothing. Not even curling!
Come on FSN, at least meet us halfway. Show the NFL Europe, the English Soccer League, or minor league baseball. Even two kids playing catch would be a welcome change.
You could even take a page from your competitor, Comcast Sports. Last summer and fall, I was able to watch games from the Canadian Football League every weekend. There was college football from the Mid-American Conference, so I was able to watch my beloved Fighting David Lettermans of Ball State University. They even showed women's college softball and field hockey. You've given us four hours of men sharing their feelings about sports, and Championship Go Fish.
If you're trying to figure out what's a sport and what isn't, just follow this rule of thumb: if you can do it sitting down, it's not a sport. If a guy like me is in better shape than the pros who do it for a living, it's not a sport. So quit broadcasting those recreational activities. Show some real sports with real athletes real soon, and make it snappy. Otherwise you'll be facing some stiff competition.
I hear the Oxygen network is going to start broadcasting synchronized swimming.
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Erik Deckers
(published week of May 12th, 2006)
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Caution: Humorist On Board
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2006
One of the dumbest fads I ever suffered through was the 'Baby On Board' signs people used to put in their car windows during the 1980s. This originally started out as a friendly warning to other motorists, urging them to drive cautiously, as there was a small infant in the car.
The people who used these signs needed to read them a little more closely though. These were the drivers who would tailgate you on residential streets, whip past you at 30 miles over the speed limit, and then flip the bird before swerving back over to avoid smashing into the oncoming school bus.
And like most dumb fads, this one was made dumber by all the "humorous" parodies that followed: 'Grandmother On Board,' 'Cubs Fan on Board,' or my personal favorite, 'Mother-In-Law In Trunk.' I even remember seeing a 'Lawyer On Board' sign once. Sadly, that's the one that launched road rage in the '90s.
These were soon followed by the 'No Radio In Car' signs that were supposed to discourage would-be thieves from smashing your car window and stealing your stereo. They were pretty effective, assuming your basic stereo thief could read. But I knew I would need some when I got a cool stereo, so I stole as many signs as I could.
Even today, I still see the occasional On Board signs as they struggle to make a comeback, like '70s rock band .38 Special on yet another summer tour of the county fairs. But for the most part, the entire fad is dead.
At least I thought so until this past week. We were driving on the freeway when a customized van breezed past us. On the back was a sign I had never seen before: 'Caution Show Dogs.'
"Show them what?" I asked my wife. "And how can I do it cautiously if I don't even know what I'm showing them. I mean, are they going to bite?"
She just rolled her eyes at me. We've been married for over 12 years, so she's used to this kind of thing.
"Not show DOGS," she said. "SHOW dogs."
"Oh." I pondered that for a moment. "Caution them about what?"
*SIGH* "It's like the 'Baby On Board' signs."
"So we're supposed to be cautious just because some blue-blood is hauling fancy dogs in their van? Or is the dog is driving? Everyone knows they drive like maniacs." I was on a roll now.
I began to get a mental image of what a van would look like if the dog were actually driving: shag carpet on the floor and walls, fuzzy dice hanging from the mirror, and a little Lynrd Skynrd on the stereo. They'll drive to a secluded spot, crank up "Freebird," drink some cheap wine, and soon the van becomes a breeding ground of immorality and sin. And puppies.
I shook my head to clear the vision. "Since when do special passengers in someone else's car constitute extra care and safety on my part?"
"You should be driving with care and safety anyway."
I ignored her. "Do they really want us to be cautious, or are they just showing off the fact they've got a canine Paris Hilton stashed in the back?"
"How the heck should I know?" she said, as if this would somehow stop the rant I could feel building up. Not a chance.
"And if we're supposed to be cautious, then why did she speed past us doing 80?"
"Why? How fast are you going?"
"70." (I forgot Rule #37 of Guy Driving: lie about your speed.)
"70?! The speed limit is 55!"
"We need to focus on what's important here. Why someone would deliberately drive around with a 'Caution Show Dogs' sign on their van. Did they lose a bet?"
"No, what's important is that we don't get a speeding ticket." Sometimes my wife has misplaced priorities.
I slowed down and pondered my next move.
"Besides, why would you automatically assume it's a woman?" she continued.
"Because a Guy would never use a gilttery faux gold plaque to advertise the fact that he's got a long-haired Pekingese daintily perched in his dogmobile."
"No, a Guy would have Yosemite Sam and a silhouette of a naked woman on the mud flaps!"
That brought the conversation to a screeching halt. I was pained by the slander she had just made against my fellow Guys. None of us would be so crass as to mix both a naked woman AND Yosemite Sam on our mud flaps.
They clash with our 'Get On Board, Baby' bumper stickers.
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Erik Deckers
(published week of May 19th, 2006)
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Has Anyone Ever Died from the Willies?
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2006
In a previous job, I used to work with people who are blind or visually impaired. I traveled quite extensively to different conferences and trade shows. During those conferences, I had the opportunity to meet all sorts of people and see all sorts of products related to technology, mobility, and independent living. After a while, everything started running together, and I can't remember where I've been without a datebook and an atlas.
But the memories of one conference will remain with me, for the rest of my life, no matter how hard I try to forget.
I was standing outside the conference hotel in Louisville, Kentucky, with my friend, Brian. We had just been to a Louisville Bats baseball game that night, and were chatting and winding down.
As we talked, a school bus pulled up to let off several conference attendees who had been on a field trip. The first woman off the bus tripped as she was coming down the steps, and fell three feet, landing squarely on her knees.
When she fell, she dropped her purse, her cane, and a few other objects.
Brian and I were standing right there, so I picked up what looked like a button or some kind of decoration. It was white, slightly larger than a quarter, squarish, and concave. I thought it went with her white purse, so I held onto it, until the woman got up.
She was still on the ground, and the bus driver was trying to help her, but something was wrong, because she wouldn't get up. She stayed on the ground, feeling around to find her lost items.
As I waited, I realized I still had this button thing in my hand, so I flipped it over to see what it was. I was more than a little shocked to discover that I wasn't holding a button.
It was her artificial eye. And it was staring at me.
Now I'm a city boy, born and raised. I never grew up on a farm. I never got to witness the Circle of Life up close. And I'm only on a nodding acquaintance with Mother Nature. So when I see dead things, gory things, or when people talk about their own bodily functions, I get more than a little squeamish ("squeal like a girl," is the phrase I often hear).
I can't even touch my own eye when I put in contacts without going "Eww! Eww!" So as I stood there, holding this artificial eye in my hand, all I could think was "this was in her head, now it's in my hand."
(In this woman's defense, none of this was her fault, and I don't want to get a laugh at her expense. It's not her fault that she fell in front of a wuss with the gag reflex of a novice sword swallower.)
As I held the eye, I felt an electric tingling creeping slowly up my arm. It was the tingling you get when you touch a snake on a dare.
"What do I do?!" I whispered to Brian.
"I don't know. I've never seen that happen before," he whispered back.
I stood there for what seemed like hours, but was really only a few seconds, when I finally realized why the woman wasn't standing up. She wasn't trying to find her purse or her cane. There was just one thing she wanted. I leaned down and whispered one of those sentences a person will only ever get to say once in a lifetime.
"I've got your eye."
She straightened up, relieved, and said, "Thank you, honey. I was looking for that." I put it in her hand. She gathered up her other things, stood right up, and went on her way.
I stood there for a moment, staring at Brian, my hand still outstretched, and not knowing what to do. I finally said, "I really can't think of anything to say now, so I'll just say good-bye. I just need to-- I mean, I should -- that is, I'm gonna just, well, go." And I all but ran inside the hotel, found a bathroom, and washed my hands. Three times.
By this time, the tingling in my arm had reached my shoulder, and didn't go away for two hours. I went back to my room with a severe case of the willies that didn't subside until I finally fell asleep. But as my head hit the pillow, I was able to comfort myself with a single thought.
At least this wasn't a morticians' conference.
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Erik Deckers
(published week of May 26th, 2006)
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