In which the boy learns that racial/ethnic classifications are imprecise

Monday at preschool, The Little Man was asked what he would be thankful for on Thursday.  His answer: “The food, because if the Indians didn’t share their food with the colonists, then they would all have died.”  (We like to interpellate them young at our house.)  The teachers loved this, and had him repeat it to the other kids.

But then, he got a little braggy.  “I’ve *been* to an Indian restaurant before, and met real Indians, and they gave *me* food, too.  I went with Mom, and Dad, and [names redacted].  I had mango lassi, and rice pudding, and chicken, and vegetables, and flat bread.”

It’s not clear that anyone ever cleared up the difference, alas.  He and I are going on a field trip* tomorrow, to Indian Rock.  Here’s hoping he doesn’t ask for a sample lassi.

*Ok, so this field trip I understand.  But they’ve been studying jungles for a couple of weeks now, and *that* unit is going to be capped with a field trip to . . . wait for it . . . the local Rainforest Cafe!   I’ve got nothing against the cafe as such, but as the culmination of a study unit, even in preschool, seems a bit much.

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