By Becky McLachlan, M.S.
Picture a Florida classroom—a teacher sings the monkey birthday song, kids crack up like it’s recess gold. But a six-year-old boy’s mom hears it land like a slap, and she’s not wrong. As a Gen X kid, I belted that rhyme at my brothers—“you live in a zoo, you look like a monkey, you smell like one too!” and we’d fall over laughing, no scars. Kid code: tease, get teased, forget by lunch.
No phones, no viral outrage, no history whispering what “monkey” meant to folks barred from our desks. I won’t excuse the teacher. If it hurts—especially aimed at a Black child—that pain overrides I was just trying to be funny. Intent doesn’t erase impact. That pain matters, and it should stop us cold.
But when did we start torching lives over a rhyme? I’m sensitive—really—I see why it’s ugly. Still, the world’s so wired to explode that nobody gets space to learn. In my classroom, when someone calls a classmate a name or disrespects them, I pull them aside—no yelling—and say it hurts my heart because we’re building a safe community where every kid feels valued, not belittled. Your words don’t echo that place.
You’re deciding right now who you want to be—and I know this isn’t it. We pause. They make amends: a real, look-them-in-the-eyes apology. When they say “it’s ok,” I remind them it’s not. We talk—heartfelt, no script—so they own it and leave knowing they can do better. We need that mercy for teachers too: admit the wound, swap the song, teach the why, move on. I miss when nonsense stayed nonsense, but I won’t pretend it didn’t cut deep. Fix it human to human before every joke needs a lawyer. So—what if we all tried that? When someone slips, do we cancel or correct?
Editor’s Note: This column reflects the views and opinions of the author. This Is Topeka Doesnt Always Agree does not necessarily endorse the perspectives expressed herein. Our goal is to foster open, thoughtful discussion on issues that shape our community.
