Sambo

When my sister Chloe gave me the porcelain figurine as a gift, I was shocked and more than a little offended. It was the ugliest thing I'd ever seen. No she did not just give me this Sambo!  It was a statue of a black man, probably a sharecropper, sitting on the grass 
holding a child in his arms. All  the features were exaggerated. They had big red lips,( My  friends and I referred to them as “Ubangi lips”) and skin so black all you could see were bright white teeth and the whites of their eyes.  And those eyes were stretched open so wide, they reminded me of old Stepin Fetchit movies. Black hair had been sculpted and painted on the head to emphasize every nappy curl. Even the wrapping paper was gaudy in red, blue, and green ballooned gold foil.

“What's this?” I asked  wrinkling my nose in distaste.

“What do you mean?  It's a statue of a black man, Nala.”

“I can see that. But I don't think I've ever expressed an interest in African-American art to you before, have I?”

Beginning to feel uncomfortable, Chloe replied: ”Nooo, I just thought you'd like it.”

“You mean being a black woman, I'm supposed to like it.”

Chloe's feelings were hurt.  She was bewildered by what she perceived as an attack on her.

“What's wrong with it? I think it's nice and there's a great story in there somewhere. I think.”

“It's a stereotype and one which I thought I could depend on you not to perpetuate. I don't think I”d feel comfortable with this in my home, Chloe. Jonathan would throw a fit if he saw it.”

“All right, I'll take it back to Tallman's tomorrow. It's too late now. I  want you to know this
is the latest big thing. It's a collector's item, and will one day  probably be worth a nice piece of cash.  You need to come off that high yella horse of yours and re-educate yourself about what's really important!” Chloe lashed out in a “I'm in a snit” tone of voice.

“Said the tar baby!” I countered, using the nickname I'd given her when we were children.

Just then, keys were heard unlocking the door and Jonathan walked in. He threw his jacket on the coat rack by the door.

“Hey, hon. Hello, Chloe.” His displeasure at seeing my sister was evident in his tone.

“Whoa! What is that?” he pointed at the figurine Chloe had placed on the ebony glass table underneath the window.

“Just something Chloe bought at Tallman's for the house. Isn't it dreadful? She's taking it back tomorrow.”

“Good move.  It wouldn't fit in with the Matisse. Damn! It's god awful.” He moved closer to the window to get a better look. What were you thinking, Chloe?”

“I was thinking maybe you'd like a nice piece of art that had something to do with your own culture for a change. Honestly, you two are the biggest sellouts I've ever seen! You're too white to be black and too black to be white. You hide behind all those possessions and “toys” that you think will put you up where you belong. But you're so wrong. You two are as fake as Naugahyde!”

Jonathan picked up the statuette turning it over in his hands.  “Oh get off your soap box. It's always about race and color with you, isn't it? No one's ever black enough for you, are they? I just don't like the ugly thing. Why don't you take it back to your house?”

“I already have that one and two others.” Chloe said in a huffy tone. “Don't worry it'll be gone very soon.”  Walking over to the table, she placed the figure in its box, closed the lid, picked up the box with wrapping paper, and walked out the door. 

A couple of hours later, Nala noticed the little booklet had fallen out of the statue's box.
On the cover was a miniature photo of the black sambo. The title was The Shape Of Southern Slavery.  This particular one, numbered 31205 in the series, was titled simply Sharecropper And Son. Any other time, the booklet would have found it's way into the trash bin, but slowly Nala opened the booklet and began to read.

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