My wife and I were walking down Ashland Street in Brooklyn yesterday when we were passed by three young African-American kids who were goofing around. One of them leapt toward the sky and proclaimed, in the voice of the old Superman jingle,”Da-da-da-da-da-da! Super-nigger!”

He seemed like a nice kid, but we both flinched; we’re of the generation for whom that word is taboo in any context, and neither of us put much stock in the attempt to “reclaim” the word.

I thought of that when I read last night about Rick Perry’s hunting camp, “Niggerhead.”

Perry’s version of events differs in many respects from the recollections of seven people, interviewed by The Washington Post, who spoke in detail of their memories of seeing the rock with the name at various points during the years that Perry was associated with the property through his father, partners or his signature on a lease.

What can one say about this? One thing, I think, is that no matter how many times hip-hop artists try to retake the word, white racists are still going to use it. (They probably welcome the reintroduction of the word into pop culture.)

Two, that the word still has the power to—if I may paraphrase another Texas governor—shock and appall.

Three, that Rick Perry isn’t fit to lead this country. (But the Tea Party People will probably embrace him all the more for it.)

I wonder what that young kid on Ashland Street will say when he reads or hears about Rick Perry’s camp. Maybe I’m wrong, and maybe taking back the word, as it were, is the only way for a 12-year-old to deal with such hate. And yet I wish the word could be erased—painted over the way the rock at the gate to Rick Perry’s ranch recently was.