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Meatballs (the movie) caused me to explain slurs to my kids the other day. Looking for a less-than-awful example, I stumbled on this lost memory:
As noted else-blog, I lived in Holland for a stretch while growing up. There I was, getting taller, all surrounded by Dutch stuff.
The American and Dutch kids went (mostly) to different schools, but we lived next door to each other, listening to our older brothers' copies of "Sheer Heart Attack" by Queen.
Sometimes we played together. For those times when we fought, we created our own slurs. "Dutchies!" we'd call the Dutch kids. Which sounds to me now like a matched-set of collectable mob bosses. Or were we really just saying "Dutch cheese"? That would be an odd thing to call someone, even in anger.
"Cray-shee Amerikahnsies!" they'd call us. And OK -- that was fair. We were crazy. Crazy about rock n roll!
Even as we launched our half-hearted catapaults, we couldn't take it too seriously. How angry could you be listening to a band whose lead guitarist had hair what looked like this?
Brian May kept the peace.
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