Ruby is watching a show called Good Luck, Charlie on Disney channel. It’s just on in the background while I work and she plays.
Here’s the scene that just happened:
The slender blonde teenage sister of the baby girl, Charlie, from the title went to the mall smoothie shop where her quarter-back boyfriend works. She catches said boy with his arm around an even more slender brunette. She runs on tip toe to hide behind a fat black man in a neon yellow t-shirt. He turns to look at her and she says, “don’t move, I’m in a relationship crisis.”
And he says, “this is your lucky day. I rarely move.”
Then there is some canned laughter.
Then, the girl announces to the room that her boyfriend is a cheater and the fat man pipes up with “and he never gives me a full serving, either.”
This is a TV show for six-year-olds making fun of fat people.
What if the fat black man had said instead, “yes’m, I’s here to please?” then soft shoed with a wide, white-toothed smile to prove his jolly servitude?
How did we get to the point where Disney is making fat jokes simplistic enough for kindergarteners to understand?
There is nothing okay with this. Not one thing.