I remember reading articles when I was in high school about the Angry White Man. About how middle class white men were tired of every one of society's ills being blamed on them, or something like that.
Charlie is the quintessential Angry White Man. When he begins to stomp and bellow and shake his baby fist in fits of rage, he is the angriest blond-haired, blue-eyed white boy you've ever seen.
As Charlie gets more verbal, we try to get him to name his feelings. So Tuesday, he gets really mad at some great injustice and I ask him if he is angry. He says, "I'm Angee!"
It's progress. If he can identify his feelings and name them, then we can work on how to handle them, right? Ha! He continues to stamp about saying, "I'm Angee! I'm Angee! I'm Angee White Man!"
For the next day or so, the Angee White Man continues to terrorize the household, until we realize that his phrasing has switched up a bit and he is now claiming to be the Angee Black Man.
Yeah, that will go over well in preschool.
As of this morning, his identity has morphed again, as he was crawling forcefully on the ground, declaring, "Meow! I Angee Black Kitteeee!"