Politically correct

My mom was known for her bluntness. She’d say anything. Some people absolutely loved this about her. Others were probably horrified. We definitely had a lot of fun at her expense. One time a lady started choking at a local restaurant. People started to panic and slapping on her back. My mom said quite loudly, Let her choke! Everyone was stunned. It was absolutely the correct thing to do; it just sounded bad. The lady was coughing and just needed a second to catch her breath. Pounding on her back was not the appropriate move. We laughed at that for years. She never got the hang of saying African Americans.  She would invariably say Afro Americans in an attempt to be politically correct. She was more likely to make an observation like, There aren’t many colored people in Destin. MOTHER! Oh, excuse me, I meant, “There aren’t many Afro-Americans in Destin.” MOTHER!  One morning mom walked into my kitchen. Jake was on a step stool, and we were making brownies. Marianne!  I thought she was commenting on my mess. You’re going to make him queer! “Seriously, Mother, you think stirring brownies at age 3 is going to determine his sexuality?” She thought about it, it might. “Mother, if stirring these brownies has made my son a homosexual, then I guess I’ll just have to love him anyway.” She let it drop. She probably worried until one day many years later when she asked Jake if he ever noticed girls in his class wearing bras yet. “Everyday,” he replied. Whew! That was a close one…

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