“Where did you hear that?” I demanded.

“From a kid in my class.”

One of my sons had just repeated a racist joke. It was the first time in my mothering history I’ve heard any of my kids tell a joke like that and it ticked me off. I had to take a deep breath to stay calm.

I explained if a joke mentioned somebody’s race or religion, they were never to repeat it. The best thing to do was to tell the original jokester they aren’t funny. There are so many funny jokes in the world, it isn’t necessary to put anyone down to get a laugh.

(why did the toilet paper roll down the hill? to get to the bottom)

They said they understood.

Later, when I told my husband about the incident, I made sure my kids knew I wasn’t going to repeat the joke for context. I wasn’t going to use my voice to put it out there, giving it life. The joke stops here, with me, with us.

It’s remarkable this issue hasn’t come up before. In fact, we talk often about the beauty of diversity in our world. Wouldn’t the world be a boring place if everyone was the same? Yes, my kids readily agree. I always figured the best way to fight racism was to demonstrate appreciation and admiration for all people, everywhere. As fellow humans, we all have inherent value and dignity.

It’s normal for preschool-aged kids to notice not everyone looks the same and I never hid from their curiosity or made them feel bad for noticing in the first place. Pretending people don’t look or sound or dress differently only serves to confuse little ones.

My little boy isn’t a racist because he told one joke. I suspect there are people who would disagree with me about this because lately, I’ve noticed the racist label and accusation flying around freely. It seems like if you disagree with a person about something and the other person happens to be a different race: RA-CIST! RA-CIST! RA-CIST!

I encountered this recently on a public forum when disagreeing with some of our president’s policies.

Of course, I can’t possibly have a quibble with how money is being spent and (uh-oh), I don’t appreciate the brilliance of Cash for Clunkers and cap and trade.

My skepticism about Cash for Clunkers is based solely on me being a drooling, throwback, seething racist.

What the accusers are doing is terribly dangerous. The word “racist” loses meaning and power when it is overused. True victims of racism are the ones who are hurt. Soon, being called a racist will be as bad as being called a doodoohead. You’ll think: Whatever.

I am not a racist. The Grand Wizard (how stupid…) of the KKK is a racist.

I am not a racist. Hitler was a racist.

I am not a racist. The person who looks at my skin and thinks my disagreement with a few policies is because our leader is black?

Racist. Or doodoohead. Take your pick.