I'm a racist. So are my kids.

All three of them. Racist to beat the band!

My children are almost all grown up now, two being 18 and over and one being well on his way to 13. Once upon a time though, they were little, and cute, and, well... racist. I didn't see anything wrong with it, in fact, I thought it quite natural and so, I encouraged it and even made concessions for it.

You see, in the UK, The National Children's Bureau has made it their goal to ferret out racist attitudes among the young. Based on their criteria, I have no choice but own up to the fact that I'm guilty of raising my kids to be racist.

Reading at The Telegraph.co.uk, I learned:

"The National Children's Bureau, which receives £12 million a year, mainly from Government funded organisations, has issued guidance to play leaders and nursery teachers advising them to be alert for racist incidents among youngsters in their care.

The 366-page guide for staff in charge of pre-school children, called Young Children and Racial Justice, warns: "Racist incidents among children in early years settings tend to be around name-calling, casual thoughtless comments and peer group relationships."

The guide goes on to warn that children might also "react negatively to a culinary tradition other than their own by saying 'yuk'".

Nurseries are encouraged to report as many incidents as possible to their local council. The guide added: "Some people think that if a large number of racist incidents are reported, this will reflect badly on the institution. In fact, the opposite is the case."

Now I know I live in Canada, but this got me thinking about my responsibilities as a parent.

I, through feeding my Canadian children (of Ukranian descent) foods familiar and customary to my own culture and not (for example) encouraging them to chow down on a tasty skewer of scorpions as opposed to the oft-enjoyed cabbage rolls and perogies or even a good ole Canadian hamburger, I've committed a sin far greater than I could've ever imagined.

When my younger son refuses to eat pasta, it's not because he just doesn't like pasta, it's because he hates Italians. When my daughter refuses to eat quiche, it's not because she hates the texture of it, it's because she hates the French! (Just please don't tell her dad though, because with his French heritage, he's bound to think I did that on purpose.)

So you see, I've raised my kids to be racist. I admit it, and you can't even send me to some rehabilitation camp, because I'm not even sorry I did it.

After all, I've never been one to be fond of apple pie, and now that I know food preferences aren't about our taste buds and personal quirks, they're about hating the culture responsible for that food, it all makes so much sense.

Isn't there that saying how something can be "As American as Apple Pie"?

I, according to the UK National Children's Bureau, apparently must then be a hater of Americans.

It must be true then.

If you, like me, are a racist and have raised your kids to be racist also, why not stop over
and give fracas some support. If you don't, you'll be sorry.

I'll find your kids and turn them racist too!

[And yes... that nice fracas lady (oh, that's me) let me use this post because she wants the world to know she's racist. Honest.]