Try not to be offended by this
So I heard a story today that I thought was worth documenting.
Sometimes my mom adoringly calls my dad a Biafran. Like the small emaciated malnourished African children because he's so dark. It's pertinent to realize my mom is from Scotland, where everyone is predominantly white or Pakistani. In the 1950s, there wasn't much integration anyway, but that's besides the point. This isn't about race. My mom when she was younger used to not buy dinner in order to adopt a small African child. They had round cards in her all-girls school that required the exact amount equal to a shilling be filled by pennies. That would've taken twelve. Sometimes my mom would skip dinner money in order to put a thruppence in pennies on the card, which is roughly equal to three single cents. Each card equaled the right to name a small child in Biafra. Just like the 53 cents a day it takes to adopt a tiny kid in Venezuela now. My mom named them after saints. Twelve cents to name a child she'd never see in her faith. I doubt there really are any Theresas, Marys, or Judes walking around as forty year old men and women out there thanks to my mom, but it was just a thought.
My nana, upon first meeting my dad, said she knew my mom would pick a colored person. She used to dote and take care of those card representations of less fortunate children from another country just a few years her junior. She was just waiting around.
Any Dead Kennedys fans out there?
Happy birthday, you.
AND now I have something else to say.
I shall be a lady at a cotillion and dance the tinikling in a Filipino traditional rite of passage for 18 year old females.
My eyes are burning without saline.
And I still don't know how to use Photoshop! Gnarrr.
Sometimes my mom adoringly calls my dad a Biafran. Like the small emaciated malnourished African children because he's so dark. It's pertinent to realize my mom is from Scotland, where everyone is predominantly white or Pakistani. In the 1950s, there wasn't much integration anyway, but that's besides the point. This isn't about race. My mom when she was younger used to not buy dinner in order to adopt a small African child. They had round cards in her all-girls school that required the exact amount equal to a shilling be filled by pennies. That would've taken twelve. Sometimes my mom would skip dinner money in order to put a thruppence in pennies on the card, which is roughly equal to three single cents. Each card equaled the right to name a small child in Biafra. Just like the 53 cents a day it takes to adopt a tiny kid in Venezuela now. My mom named them after saints. Twelve cents to name a child she'd never see in her faith. I doubt there really are any Theresas, Marys, or Judes walking around as forty year old men and women out there thanks to my mom, but it was just a thought.
My nana, upon first meeting my dad, said she knew my mom would pick a colored person. She used to dote and take care of those card representations of less fortunate children from another country just a few years her junior. She was just waiting around.
Any Dead Kennedys fans out there?
Happy birthday, you.
AND now I have something else to say.
I shall be a lady at a cotillion and dance the tinikling in a Filipino traditional rite of passage for 18 year old females.
My eyes are burning without saline.
And I still don't know how to use Photoshop! Gnarrr.