It was well before daybreak a few weeks ago when I got a call from the Home for Retired Racial Stereotypes.

"White, you need to get over here right away," Buckwheat insisted. "I'm being stalked."

When I arrived a few minutes later, Buckwheat was hollering into his telephone.

"How many times does I have to tell you not to call me anymore? I ain't interested!" the diminutive Our Gang character squeaked in a frustrated tone before slamming down the phone.

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"Those pestering calls from telemarketers certainly can be annoying," I commented. "You should get on the no-call list."

"I wish it was that simple," Buckwheat said, sighing and running a hand through his pigtails. "But that Ginni just won't leave me alone. She just keep calling and calling."

"Who's Ginni?" I asked.

Before Buckwheat could reply, the phone rang again. "You get it this time, and if it's Ginni, tell her I ain't available," Buckwheat insisted.

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When I answered the call, a woman began to rant in a singsong voice. "Buckwheat, this is Ginni. I just wanted to reach across the airwaves and the years and ask you to consider something …"

"Excuse me," I interrupted. "Buckwheat's not available. Can I take a message?"

"Just tell him Ginni called to extend an olive branch after all these years, in hopes that we could ultimately get past what happened so long ago," the caller chirped. "I hope he will give it some thought and certainly pray about this and come to understand why he did what he did."

"I'll pass it along," I responded.

"OK, have a good day," the caller said and hung up.

"This requires an explanation," I observed as I relayed the message.

"Well, she wanted to be one of my baby mamas," Buckwheat explained, somewhat ruefully, "but she just wasn't my type, so I broke it off and she married somebody else."

"So why is she calling you after all these years?" I demanded.

"She says she wants me to come to some tea party, but that don't make no sense at all," said Buckwheat. "I ain't interested in hanging with Ginni at no tea party, nor any coffee klatch or ice cream social!"

"So why not call the police?" I suggested.

"Oh," Buckwheat sighed, "I couldn't do that. I feel kinda sorry for her."

Just then the phone started ringing again.

"Don't answer it, White," said Buckwheat in a weary tone. "I bet that if I just ignore her, she'll leave me alone and start calling somebody else."

Jack White is a regular contributor to The Root.

is a former columnist for TIME magazine and a regular contributor to The Root.