kerouac says

my kids think it's funny to tell me how i can be "ghetto" and/or "gangster." i'm a little uncomfortable with the idea of me every pretending to the same experiences they've grown up with, but i can't seem to stop them from planning my harlem makeover. you need a pair of jordans, one of them told me yesterday. and some tight jeans, one of the girls chimed in--and let me do your hair (she brings a comb to school every day now, so that she can come upstairs to my office and play with my hair while i eat lunch. is this professional? i confess i do not care). this is the same little girl who proudly proclaimed last month that i was not white; i was "caucasian." she said it kind of like my mom used to say, "your feet aren't big! your feet are long and graceful!" it's been a tough road into this girl's good graces, so i'm choosing to accept the compliment.