I grew up in what most people would consider a pretty normal neighborhood. Lots of kids my age; daily pick-up baseball/football/basketball games, depending on the season; mothers calling from their front stoops that supper was ready, voices carrying for miles on the wind because who knows where everyone had gathered that day.
There were some kids who were different than the rest of us. They were included in whatever the day’s events brought. It would’ve been rude to exclude them. Still, we looked at them differently; maybe not down our noses, but certainly across them. You didn’t want to be seen playing with one of these kids if you were the only other one there. If you stumbled across your main group — the kids who were more like you — you felt like you needed a good explanation.
I’m sure these kids picked up on their otherness, and probably felt as if the rest of us were spreading prejudice. Of course, we knew they were the ones spreading the roots of dissent that stood against all of our foundational values and truths. Even if those kids weren’t actively involved in radical efforts to shift the status quo, we knew their parents or older relatives probably were.
We of the true and right thought of ourselves as, if not enlightened, at least tolerant. Different strokes, whatever you want to do in your own home and all that. Just don’t put it in our faces and expect us to be OK with it.
But, sometimes, it would be thrown in your face, usually by a kid’s parent, if you were at their house during a meal. That was an awkward situation. Don’t blame me for liking things the way they are, you’re the one who’s different and foisting it on everyone else.
It’s an uncomfortable subject, and not something I’m given to addressing head on, but, surely, by now you’ve figured out I’m talking about the kids who put Nutella on their bread for sandwiches, instead of good, old-fashioned American peanut butter. I know, I know. It’s precisely when this country started going to hell in a hand basket. I don’t blame the kids. I blame their families.
Nutella wasn’t marketed in the United States until 1983 and, even then, at least where I’m from, you didn’t find it in the local grocery store. Where were they getting this stuff? Some shady European connection, no doubt.
Indeed, Nutella, which was created in Italy, had been a smash hit across Europe for more than 20 years before it appeared in America. The Nutella kids always had a European grandparent who had gotten them hooked on the stuff and, when regaling youngsters with tales of the old country, was rather vague about where they were and what they were doing from 1938 to 1945.
Look, I realize it’s 2021. Nutella is everywhere now. In fact, the company had to do some rebranding around 2012, because it was marketing its hazelnut and cocoa spread as healthier than other sandwich fillers, when it wasn’t. There’s nothing more American than requiring a court to force you to be honest, but some of us just aren’t OK with Nutella being normalized. Like I said, your house, closed doors, consenting adults, separate but equal ... whatever.
Of course, I nearly had a coronary the other day when I found a jar of the stuff in my house. Not my kid.
“Hey dad!” he said with a grin, revealing a dark substance clinging to the corner of his mouth.
My despairing howl of “NO!!!” caused a flock of birds to depart a tree outside the home and set off several car alarms.
After rapidly progressing through the however many stages of grief, I landed on acceptance. He’s my kid. I love him. If this is what he likes, it’s what he likes. Fortunately, it’s 2021. Or is that fortunate? I don’t really know. I do wish I’d been nicer to the Nutella kids back in my day. Is it too late to blame my parents?
"Opinion" - Google News
November 18, 2021 at 07:30AM
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Ben Fields: The spread of prejudice (Opinion) | Columnists | wvgazettemail.com - Charleston Gazette-Mail
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