When I was little we only had one car. My dad drove it to work which left my mom and I (and eventually my sisters) to bee-bop around town on our bikes or on the public buses. We lived in a hippie town in the 80's and this was normal.
One time when I was about 4 my mom and I were riding the bus. We sat near the front because duh, who wants to wrangle a squirrely little kid more than a few rows of seats?
We pulled up to the bus stop and since we were so close to the front my mom could see out the front window and at this stop she immediately thought "SHIT" to herself. Why shit? Because getting ready to get on the bus was a larger black man who was wearing a flowy type Jesus robe and carrying a staff. To top it off he also had very thick and pouffy dreadlocks down to his waist.
Obviously my mom knew me well. She knew I would NOT be able to let this man pass by without comments. Fairly sure they would be LOUD comments.
Well luckily, I did not fail her.
When black rasta-Jesus got on the bus I sucked in my breath and my mouth flew open...and my mom tried to squelch my words by pulling my close and whisper threatening that "We can talk about this LATER."
Um, yeah right.
"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! LOOK AT HIM'S HAIR!"
(Apparently I didn't notice the staff and Jesus robe, just the hair)
"Yes honey, I saw him. Let's talk about what books we're going to get at the library!"
"BUT MOOOOOOOOM! HIM'S HAIR!!!"
"Yes, honey, we can talk about it later."
Luckily our new friend just gave us the peace sign and continued on his way to another row far away from the spastic screaming child.