This just reminded me of Adam, a friend of mine growing up. His grandfather was a guy who at the time was considered curmudgeonly in the best grumpy-grampa sort of way, but certainly by today's standards would be...societally unacceptable, let's say.
He didn't live near us and didn't travel well or often, but he came to one of our basketball games. Now Adam was awkward as hell. His family line was Swedish, on both sides. He was pasty-white and had that complexion that almost looked lightly dusted by flour (pastry-white? Heh). But while he looked like a robot running, jerky and with absolutely zero flow, he was fast as hell - fastest kid in the class, and quick.
Anyway, the game was close and Adam made an athletic play at the end to help seal the win, streaking the length of the floor to catch up with a ball, save it on the end line with a pass flying out of bounds to a teammate to lay it in for a lead with seconds to go.
I was with him when his family reached him, and his Grandfather said, at that weird volume-above-the-noise that only extroverted old people can attain, some sort of Swedish-cultural exclamation that I can't remember, that was the equivalent of an affectionate "Damn, boy!' as his lead in to:
"[Damn, boy,] that was FAST!
Who spilled the oil in the [LastName] gene pool!"
Ah, the 80s. When you could just laugh at the ridiculousness of racism as the anachronism that it should be, and just chalk it up to another generational difference. Compassionate Cancellation, by awareness, identification, and mockery. Anti-racism, Blazing Saddles style.
Good times, good times.