Remembering Grandma Again

One day when I was a little boy, I was taken over to my Grandma's trailer so she could babysit me for a while. Her little scottie dog Queenie ran around yapping and played fetch (sort of, Queenie didn't like giving things back once she got her teeth into them), but fifteen year-old mutt Wimpy just kind of lay there. And he was flatulent, too.

Grandma made a big batch of molasses cookies, which I have never particularly liked, sat me on a stool, and read me a story. Little Black Sambo. I know, the apologists say that the little boy is actually an Indian, otherwise, why would there be tigers? But c'mon, "Little Black Sambo?

That racist bitch. She might as well have taken me to a Klan rally.

Typical white person.