I Was Raised by Aunt Jemima and Uncle Ben
A satire on dangers of white privilege, ragging on the tattered shreds of Dixie
My rich, white parents could never be bothered with me.
They went off to live in a castle in Switzerland, while I was dumped off at their loyal servant’s hovel. It wasn’t their fault, of course. As a predatory lender with Well’s Fargo, my dad was so rich that he couldn’t really be expected to have to endure even the thought of a dirty diaper. And, my poor, biological birth mother, she had it rough, too. She was oppressed by her high society friends, two of which had the gall to note that they all had white privilege. She just couldn’t take it anymore.
Just because my mother boasted a teensy bit about her one black friend, My Aunt Jemima, and how “All lives matter,” she had to endure the utter humiliation of having her chauffer make direct eye contact with her.
Uncle Ben and Aunt Jemima raised me. But now, they have mysteriously disappeared.
I would like to say that I was raised a poor, black child. But of course, that is not true, so now, I suppose to be PC, I can’t say that anymore.
Modern times are just so confusing. It’s as if we’re not supposed to lie about how racist and privileged we are, instead of being able to brag about it.
Aunt Jemima was not my “real” mom. No, she was my mammy. Only this week I have learned,which is, I guess, a fictional mom?
And, few people even realize that she wasn’t married to Uncle Ben. No. they were just really good friends who learned culinary arts together. Aunt Jemima used to say that they were “friends with benefits.” I don’t know what that is. I assume it is something like entitlement, or privilege.
I guess it is wonderful that all of us live in a world where everyone has equal privilege.
Aunt Jemima made the best pancakes on earth. It was a shame I was never ate them, though. It might be because I demanded eggs benedict and Crepe Suzette for breakfast.
Aunt Jemima used to say that toiling over a hot stove all day made her strong, and resilient, but now, for some crazy reason she says she’s going to quit!
One time, after picking me up from Polo lessons, Aunt Jemima was in a real hurry. She was auditioning for the remake of Gone With The Wind. In the updated version, she plays Scarlett O’Hara and the whole production is very much like a celebratory soiree about how the old south is finally blowing away “for good”, she said.
In this remake version, the burning of Atlanta happens at a Wendy’s fast food restaurant for some inscrutable reason.
Anyway, the day of her audition, Aunt Jemima didn’t have time to make my supper. She threw a box of something called “Fruit Loops” at my head.
“I declare, Aunt Jemima,” I cried, “You nearly hit me in the head!”
“Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.” She yelled, slamming the door.
This was so bewildering and confusing to my young and tender heart. “Why, oh, why??,” I asked my polo pony, stable boy, Bertram. And, “Is that even the role that she is supposed to audition for?”
I do fear I cannot comprehend this modern world.
As the more unrefined, yet genteel people of Dixie would say: Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit!
I was truly mystified, and a little sad.
Bertram just shrugged, and said he had some sort of demonstration to get to, having to do something with “No Justice of the peace,” I think he said.
And with that, Aunt Jemima was gone from my life. I sadly made my way back to Uncle Ben’s shack, but he was gone too.
Now, I am alone in the world, an impoverished 34 year old man with a trust fund of barely four million $$$$ dollars a year.
It’s a merciless world, you know. I was just beginning to really see Auntie and Uncle as essential workers.