Discrimination

dis-crim-I-nate (di skrim´i nāt´) vi. [See discern] 1 to distinguish 2 to make distinctions in treatment; show partiality or prejudice —dis-crim´i-nat´ing adj. —dis-crim´I-na´tion n.

I am guilty of discrimination. There are no two ways about it. I distinguish between choices and I am prone to show partiality, so I fit the definition of discrimination.

However, I don’t feel any sense of guilt about it, because I know that you, too are just as guilty of discrimination as I am. We are all guilty of discrimination.

That will cause a lot of you to close your mind to anything else I have to say on the subject, because you think you are not guilty as charged. And by doing so (closing your mind to me, that is) you are practicing discrimination. Aha, I got you!

It is a high compliment to say of a person that he or she has discriminating taste, be it in food, wine, literature, music, or any of the daily routines in which we engage. If that person chooses a cabernet wine over a sauvignon, he or she is discriminating against the sauvignon.

By definition, all choices that we make in life are discriminatory. Anything we choose is to the exclusion of something else, and is therefore discrimination. And let’s face it; life is a series of choices.

Now, since I’ve already confessed to be guilty of discrimination, I want to use the occasion to illustrate to you how our “PC” world has deprived us of some very colorful and appropriate lyrics to a lullaby that I used to sing when I was a kid. The title is Kentucky Babe and sometime around 1970 the lyrics got changed, because somebody must have considered it offensive. Well, I don’t (but then, I’m discriminating).

A quartet at the Dixie District Barbershop Chorus and Quartet Competition I attended last weekend in Boaz, Alabama sang Kentucky Babe. I couldn’t help but notice that the words were “cleaned up” by the arranger, and it certainly wasn’t the song I sang with my family quartet while a teenager in the 1950s.

These were the exact lyrics as sung last week:

Skeeters are a-hummin’ on the honeysuckle vine,
Sleep, Kentucky Babe!
Sandman is a-comin’ for this little girl of mine,
Sleep, Kentucky Babe!
Silvery moon is shinin’ in the heavens up above,
Bobolink is pinin’ for his little lady love,
You are mighty lucky,
Babe of old Kentucky
Close your eyes in sleep.

Fly away,
Fly away, Kentucky Babe, fly away to rest.
Fly away,
Lay your little curly head on your mommy’s breast.
Um-um, Um-um,
Close your eyes in sleep.

Here are the original lyrics, written by Richard Henry Buck in 1896:

’Skeeters am a hummin’ on de honeysuckle vine,
Sleep, Kentucky Babe!
Sandman am a comin’ to dis little chil’ of mine,
Sleep, Kentucky Babe!
Silv’ry moon am shinin’ in de heabens up above
Bobolink am pinin’ fo’ his little lady love:
Yo’ is mighty lucky,
Babe of old Kentucky,
Close yo’ eyes in sleep.

Fly away,
Fly away, Kentucky Babe, fly away to rest,
Fly away,
Lay yo’ kinky, woolly head on yo’ mammy’s breast,
Um—um—, um—um—
Close yo’ eyes in sleep.

Daddy ’s in de cane-brake wid his little dog and gun,
Sleep, Kentucky Babe!
’Possum fo’ yo’ breakfast when yo’ sleepin’ time is done,
Sleep, Kentucky Babe!
Bogie man ’ll catch yo’ sure unless yo’ close yo’ eyes
Waitin’ jes outside de doo’ to take yo’ by surprise:
Bes’ be keepin’ shady,
Little colored lady,
Close yo’ eyes in sleep.

Fly away,
Fly away, Kentucky Babe, fly away to rest,
Fly away,
Lay yo’ kinky, woolly head on yo’ mammy’s breast,
Um—um—, um—um—
Close yo’ eyes in sleep.

There you have it. I can picture a black woman cradling her sweet little girl while she sings her to sleep, and every word helps to paint a picture of peace and contentment. I ask you what could be offensive about that? Why did we have to change it?

I suppose there are some of you who’ve never heard Kentucky Babe, so just in case you would like to know what it sounds like in the (almost) original lyrics, here’s a recording by the Crew-Cuts from 1959.