Horrible Gelatinous Blob wrote:

the reaction where people accepted it as gospel truth because it confirmed everything they secretly believed but were too scared to investigate for themselves.

The implication here is that non-black high schoolers sit quietly in the classroom, calmed by the sheer purity of their white flesh.

Here's how it works, generally: black people are louder, on average, than other ethnicities. People in the South are louder, on average, than people from other regions. High school kids, on average, are louder than full-grown adults -- especially when around other high school kids.

Light-skint? Yes. High yellow? Doubtful in front of a white teacher, but a possibility. Mulatto? I'm more inclined to believe that than "half-breed." It's just wrong: black kids don't talk like that.

Like Hawaiian Pidgin, French Creole in Louisiana, and pretty much every dialect ever, Black English has its own internally consistent rules and structure. This is why it sounds wrong and white when people who aren't familiar with it try to imitate it. They haven't grown up around it, they haven't heard it used frequently, and so they have no clue what the rules and structure are.

I was on the free breakfast/lunch program at one point. I never took advantage of it; not even once. Neither did anyone else I was friends with. The food served by the cafeteria was inedible at best and poisonous at worst. Eating a school lunch guaranteed a bathroom emergency in 6th period.

The only people I knew who did eat the free breakfast/lunch did so because there was a very real possibility that it might be the only food they had all day. They'd load up on bread, potatoes, and other carbs and skip the "meat." If the meal was pizza, we'd go through the line and give it to them so they'd have something to take home.

Christopher Jackson wrote:


In our modern, atomized world children often have very little communication with adults—especially, or even, with their parents—so there is potential for a real transaction between pupil and teacher, disciple and master.

A rewarding relationship can grow up between an exceptional, interested student and his teacher. I have stayed in my classroom with a group of students discussing ideas and playing chess until the janitor kicked us out. I was the old gentleman, imparting my history, culture, personal loves and triumphs, defeats and failures to young kinsman. Sometimes I fancied myself Tyrtaeus, the Spartan poet, who counseled the youth to honor and loyalty.

That sounds like some pedophile shit to me.