Inside The Glass House: The Half Welsh Issue
Yo, so, I was thinking, with the amount of judgement I’m putting out on you people, I probably need to get my fucking skeletons out of the closet, and do a little self reflection. From time to time, I’m going to be confessing a racist thing I do myself, just to get that shit off my chest. Of course it’ll be heavily self-censored and in a context that makes me look good, but yo, that’s what you get.
Ok, so check this shit out: I have very little patience for when white people spend too much time listing out their full and exact European heritage. Like, unless that shit is immediately germane to the discussion at hand (ie, “Oh, I speak a little French because my mom is French”, or “Actually, my Grandpa was a Hitler Youth.”), shit just always sounds to me like the teacher from Charlie Brown, but instead of the wah-wah trumpet, it’s just someone going “White-white-white. White white white-white white.” So, you know, apologies in advance when my eyes start to lose focus when you start telling me how weird it is to be a third Portuguese.
Is it unfair? Sure, but man, for now, I think the best you’re going to get out of me is that I don’t shout back, “I CAN ALREADY TELL YOU’RE WHITE, FOOL.”
This reminds me of a story a friend told me in high school about how a teacher asked who in the class was mixed, and when the whitest ginger in the school raised his hand, one girl hissed, “what’s HE mixed with? white and more white?”
