I’m Babysitting Some Bad Ass White Kid. Am I Allowed To Scare Him With The Train Scene From The Wiz? Or Would That Be Encouraging Cultural Appropriation?

It’s 6:45 pm, and I’m in the living room of a twenty-floor condo in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. I’m babysitting a six-year old White boy who won’t stop talking about Mr. Beast and how “Ms. Rachel is lowkey bad.”

I’m scared for the future, and my patience is running low.

So I think, what can make a six-year old quiet? I have to close my eyes and visualize, to recall a time when I was in his place.

What scared me? Who was in my nightmares? What was I scared of when the lights shut off?

Suddenly, I’m jolted into remembering.

I remember their outlines first. Their figures. Two orange figures. Two orange figures. Two orange figures. Growing. For some fucking reason.

Then, all at once I recall their faces–if you can call it that–and their bodies.

The scene.

It’s the perfect way to scare the living shit out of a six-year old child, all while remaining within the constraints of the MPAA rating G.

As I open my eyes and come back to reality, I see the little White adolescent getting up to go to the restroom. Perfect. The remote control is now open for me to search whatever I want with it.

But, as I begin to type out “The Wiz train scene” on this White child’s YouTube Premium account, I look around myself, and think,

I’m in some rich White person’s condo about to show their child,

…The Wiz???

This is how cultural appropriation begins.

Fuck.

Yes, I would love for this child to be quiet, but I also don’t want my culture to become a costume.

‘Cause what if I show this kid the scene, and instead of being scared by it, as I intend, he’s like,

“Wow, this scene is mad interesting, and, in fact, multi-dimensional. The colors, the vibe, and…ooh, is that Michael Jackson?! I fuckin’ love Michael Jackson! Huh. I wonder what the whole movie is like?”

And I’m not finna show this nigga the whole movie. I can’t. Them songs are too catchy. I refuse to be the reason a White boy is singing “Ease On Down the Road” in his first grade class. If I was a black teacher and saw my white student singing “Ease On Down the Road,” I’d probably think I was dying an extremely painful death, and God is playing snippets of my life back through a caucasian child.

So I can’t show the scene. Right? Because then he ‘gon wanna watch the whole movie, but I don’t wanna show him the whole movie, but if he asks to see the whole movie, I can’t tell him no. ‘Cause then he’ll tell his rich momma, which will then lead her to ask me,

“Why would you show him the scene, then, if he couldn’t watch the whole movie?”

Which will then make me say,

“Uh, ion know.”

Which will then lead her to give me directions to my nearest unemployment office, and I can’t afford unemployment right now. I need money to buy T-Pain tickets. He’s about to come to NYC, and I need to see all that movin’ and shakin’ he be doing. In person.

So, I sit and try to think of another scene I can show him. That’s the only one that ever really scared me like that, though. Maybe I can show him the Thriller video? Nah, music is the easiest way to lead a young white impressionable mind down the road of cultural appropriation. Maybe I can just play it on mute. But then it would be less scary. And more questions.

It doesn’t matter though. For in the midst of my thoughts, I’m interrupted.

He runs out of the bathroom crying.

I’m confused.

I ask him, “What’s wrong?” And he holds up his cellphone, showing me The Wiz train scene. I say, “How did you find this?” He replies, “It was in my search history.”

And we both look up at the TV to see the YouTube results returned for the search–made on his YouTube Premium account–for “The Wiz train scene”. Fuck. I really wanted to see T-Pain shake ass while singing Bartender.

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