Teacher FIRED For Making To Make White Kids Feel As Guilty As Possible and Pick Cotton

[ChristisKing]

I wasn't sure if this was satire or not in the very beginning. I can tell that it definitely is towards the end of the video though.

 

[1srelluc]

 

[Winston]

Honestly, I am not seeing the big deal. Hell yeah, take the kids on a field trip and have them pick cotton, or strawberries, or tomatoes, or oranges.

What the hell is wrong with teaching children what it was like, or is like in my eyes, to pick cotton. And I don't give a damn about the race of those children. But if race is a factor, then for the love of all that is holy, blacks should be given preference for those cotton picking slots.

And before your head explodes, that is because maybe, if they actually experienced even a small taste of. what the life of a slave was all about, the people that came before them, they would respect that work

I wish that I could be a slave
It doesn't really matter what kind
I'd sing a song for fallen angels
Try and be free in my mind
Then when no one was lookin'
Well, I'd drop my harvest plow
I'd find my own contemporaries
And wipe the shame from their brow

From Sam Bush, Same Old River.

Respect what their enslaved ancestors did, instead of attempting to monetize it, extort it, get their "reparations". And picking cotton, well the first thing they need to do is to get down on their knees and thank the good lord that their enslaved ancestors were picking cotton, not harvesting sugar cane in the West Indies.

But here is the real thing. Any of you ever pick cotton? It ain't that bad, at least I didn't think so. I was about 12, and come to think of it, it was the fall before the Christmas that I got my shotgun.

It is Sunday, and we get to Grandpaw's at the crack of dawn. Dad and Grandpaw loaded the dogs on the truck and went quail hunting. Routine during quail season. Across the road from Grandpaw's, about 60 acres of his cotton. He is planning on running the cotton picker through it tomorrow.

As Grandpaw and Dad walk out the door, I follow carrying two big flour sacks Maw Maw had given me, and a canteen. "What are you doing?", Dad asked. "Picking cotton", was my reply. I mean being real, there were not a lot of mules hanging around, let alone the equipment required, so I sure wasn't going to be walking behind any mule anytime soon.

But I had enough. I was tired of hearing, I walked behind a mule, I picked cotton from sunup to sundown. Learned everything there I needed to know. So, this particular morning, I was out to get my learning.

And I am going to be real. I virtually attacked it. While just 12, I was also very short for my age, so I get I didn't have to stoop over. Eventually, you figure the best thing to do is scoot around on your knees. And yes, the symbolism doesn't escape me. But then again, none of you have picked cotton. You don't even see that symbolism.

 

[Winston]

Lunchtime rolls around. I cross the road, have a tomato sandwich, and strike back out to the cotton field. I have emptied two loads of those flour sacks on the front porch, four sacks, about twenty-five pounds each.

Dad and Grandpaw roll in around lunch, par for the course. Dad, and Grandpaw are silent during lunch. They can sense, I am on a mission. I hit the field again, and there is a learning curve here, but I am past that now.

About mid-afternoon, I am done. I don't know how much acreage I covered, it didn't feel like much. I was in a sea of cotton. But there was close to two hundred pounds on that front porch. And important number that even my young ass knew.

Not a word was said. And did I learn anything that day? Damn skippy, like respect and gratitude. And perhaps most of all, the self-fulfillment of a good day's work. And to this day, I dread harvest season for cotton. Those cotton pickers are so inefficient, so much white in the field after they have went over it. It takes all my power not to pull over and start picking.