I took a trip to Michaels one Sunday afternoon with my daughter, in an attempt to find tools to help organize her life and declutter her mind. She was just happy to be out in public, at a store no less, to do some shopping and spend time with me. While I was looking for anything from color coded post-it notes to daily planners to to-do lists, Reese found a mother/daughter journal that we could fill out together. I thought that would be a fun idea, so I added it to my cart (like an actual cart with wheels, not a virtual Amazon cart that I have grown to know and love). The first pages we filled out were entitled, “Twenty things about me.” To give you an example of how different I am from my daughter, she wrote that her favorite word is “Love you,” while I wrote that my favorite word is “Fuck” (spelled F*?! to save her innocent eyes). But we had many similar answers as well. She wrote that she hates “mean people,” and I wrote that I hate “racism.” And I do, I hate it to the core. Are all racists mean people…yep they sure are, when they know they are being offensive and still choose to discriminate anyway. I hate that I even have to write that I hate racism in this present day in a journal that I share with my young daughter, and that racist people and ideas are the mean things that I have to protect my children from or prevent them from becoming themselves.
Sounds like that Michaels trip took a turn for the worse, huh? While the store itself gives me high anxiety, with the endless craft supplies and glue guns that seem to mock my inability to do or like crafts, the store itself is not the impetus for this piece about racism. This week there was a mass shooting in Georgia, where the shooter, a white male, targeted Asian Americans, with six of the victims being Asian women. It’s hard not to feel something from that. It’s not a headline I read and think, “Dayem! That sucks!” Rather, it induces a surge of emotions in me, as if I was personally attacked. I questioned whether or not I should discuss this with the kids, and then I decided, fuck it, they need to know. What am I protecting them from? They need to know the reality of our current day climate, and as Asian Americans, they need to be aware of what they might be faced with someday.
On my ride home with Reese last night from basketball practice, I felt that bringing it up then was as good as any other time. There’s no good segue from her story about playing “Knock Out” to a serious talk about racism, so I just plainly started with, “Hey, a bunch of Asian Americans were targeted and shot down in Georgia by a very angry and violent white man. There were other non-Asian victims as well, but it appears that the shooter was targeting Asians. There is still an investigation going on as to what his motivation was, but I’m just going to call it what it is, a hate crime.” Boy did that get her quiet. I’m not one to beat around the bush, and our car ride was only ten minutes long, so I had to be succinct. I continued to explain, “During this entire pandemic year, Asian Americans have experienced a growing rate of racist acts towards them. The former president and many others in power and in the media have used terms like, “China flu,” “Chinese virus,” or even “Kung Flu,” which have seemed to open the doors for everyday people to also use these phrases and take it a step further and treat Asians differently or meanly. This is why words can hurt. Words and what seem to be small harmless jokes, when used and said often enough, can fuel action. We are seeing the elderly and women being beaten for no reason other than them being Asian. It’s not right, there is no excuse for it, it has to stop.” It was a lot to take for both of us; for Reese to hear it for the first time, and for me to say it out loud.
“Why would people call it the “Chinese flu?” she asked me. “Exactly, kid,” is what I thought, but I tried to be rational and answered, “Well, some of the original strains of the virus originated in China. HOWEVER, people have used the term, not because they are referencing where one of the strains came from, but to take a passive-aggressive jab at people that are not like them. I mean, come on, the term “coronavirus” or “covid” are sitting right there for them to use, but when they readily choose “China flu” instead, you must wonder why? What is their intention? Clearly for many, they intended to use it in a hurtful way.” I explained to her that the reason I was bringing this all up is because racism is very real and it is taught and learned at a very early age. My responsibility as a parent is to teach my kids what it is, how to identify it, how they can (and should) respond to it, with the end goal of ending the cycle of hate. Again, I know it’s a lot, but I know she can handle it. She has to. I wish it was different, but it is not.
She was engaged in the conversation, and though I couldn’t see her face clearly in the rear view mirror, I could just feel the wheels in her mind spinning. She asked me how she could tell if someone says something or does something racist, and I told her that she’ll feel it in her gut. I told her sometimes examples could be really subtle (I then had to define what ‘subtle’ meant), and other times words and actions could be really obvious. There was an incident in her classroom last year that came to my mind, and I brought it up again last night to help give her some real life examples. She was working in a small group and one of the kids said to the other, who was Chinese, “Your language sounds like ‘ching-chang-chong.” All the kids laughed, including the Chinese kid, but Reese was confused. She told me the story right away, I believe to see my reaction, because I honestly don’t think she knew how to react. She asked if that was wrong, and I told her to follow her gut instinct; if it feels wrong, it’s probably wrong. I explained to her that what he said was offensive, and even though she laughed it off, you don’t know what she is really feeling inside. I said, “Listen, I don’t think your friend is racist, and I don’t think the people that laughed are racists either. I don’t think his intentions were to hurt her feelings or to make her feel like she is less than him just because she is Chinese or speaks a different language. Ignorance is different than racism. But it needs to be pointed out that it is wrong to say things like that, otherwise, no one learns what is and is not offensive, and it will continue and even get worse. That’s when ignorance becomes racism.” Reese sounded worried that if she confronted someone and said they are being offensive, it would cause drama. I told her, “Don’t go around calling people racist this and racist that, otherwise you will just find yourself in an argument with someone who is defensive. Just plainly state that their comments were offensive and explain why. There’s no need for name calling or labeling. And hopefully, they will listen and learn. But maybe they won’t. That part is out of your control. All you can control is your own actions. Normally I tell you to stay away from drama, just walk away. But do not walk away when you think someone is treating another person meanly because they look or sound differently from them. That’s a battle I’m okay with you choosing to fight.” She then asked what to do if a family member says something that sounds racist, and I gave her the green light to call them out. I told her to think of it as a teaching moment, and not so much as being the racist police. I pulled into our driveway, and that was that, talk was over. The conversation was short, to the point, and packed with a punch, like her mama.
I’ve learned from past experiences talking to the kids about race, racism, and discrimination that these conversations have to be short in duration, only because they start to tune us out. Sometimes I could see the kids’ eyes rolling, probably thinking, “Mom’s doing her ‘being Filipino is important’ thing again.” I’ve also learned that it was important for Jamie to take an active role in talking about these issues. There is great value to hear these things from their white parent’s perspective as well. In fact, during the summer when George Floyd was murdered and the BLM protests were happening, Jamie took the lead in the conversation. It is very difficult to talk about racism, entitlements, and social injustices in language kids could understand, but whether difficult or uncomfortable, it is imperative. It brought Jamie to tears for many different reasons, and I think seeing raw emotion was an effective way for the kids to understand the gravity of the issues at hand. We learned that these conversations have to happen simply and sadly often, because racist-driven bullshit keeps happening.
Never in a million years did I think it would be 2021 and we would still be having these racial issues. I kept telling myself that what I experienced growing up was going to be different for my kids because the world would be better for them. It’s not, not better enough. When I was in kindergarten at a school-sponsored Halloween party, I was in a costume contest. I was dressed as a clown (talk about foreshadowing). Members of the Knights of Columbus were judging the costume contest. Believe it or not, I was a very timid and shy child, scared to death to stand in front of these big burly men (I’m sure they were just regular men, but to a 5 year-old, all adults look big and intimidating). I can’t remember who won or what the prize was, all I could remember was being scared to stand there alone and I just froze on stage. One of the men said to me, “It’s time to leave the stage now. Hey, I’m talking to you. What’s wrong with you, you don’t speak any English or something?” I was nearly in tears, partly because I couldn’t find my mom, partly because I was confused as to why he would say that to me. I told my mom what he said, and she looked annoyed and just said to ignore him. I kept asking myself, “Why would he ask if I spoke English? It’s the only language I speak.” I didn’t know why and I didn’t know where his comment came from, I just knew in my gut that it was wrong and it was mean. That man was an usher at our church, and every week I saw him when he was collecting my family’s offertory envelop, I had a visceral reaction. I felt hot, I felt my hands ball up into fists, I felt sweaty (I have hyperhidrosis anyways, but let’s just chalk this sweat sesh up to racism). Later, when I understood what racism and discrimination were, I was finally able to label that gut feeling I had when I was that 5 year-old clown. For years, I saw that man in church, and every single instance I could feel myself burning a hole into his soul with my eyes (active bitch face). He might just be the reason I have RBF today, it’s permanently ironed on my face after all those Sundays facing him at church. I’m sure that man is deceased now, and I’m certain he had zero recollection of that night even if he was alive. It meant nothing to him, it didn’t affect him at all. But here I am at 41 years old, still shaking when I think about that night, still furious that an adult could say something like that to a child, still hurt that for even just a few seconds I felt like I was less than him because I looked different. I had many experiences of racial discrimination towards me thereafter, too many to count, too hurtful to repeat. Like any trauma, they shape you, they teach you, they change you.
My experiences with racial discrimination has and will be different from what my kids might experience for several reasons. For one thing, I was raised in a home by first-generation immigrants (or am I the first generation because I was born here? I don’t know the correct terminology, and apparently Wikipedia and the US Census bureau don’t know either…thanks for nothing, interwebs). My parents had the balancing act of trying to fit into American culture without letting go of their Filipino culture. We were taught to respect our elders and authority, stay humble and quiet, but prove ourselves with stellar grades and extra-curricular achievements, preferably with a musical instrument and not necessarily with athletic equipment. It wasn’t said in words, but the underlying unspoken tone was, “Show them that you belong here.” I am sad to say that many times I’ve turned a blind eye to racial acts, many times I’ve overused the “benefit of the doubt” card, all because I was keeping my head down and staying quiet. Those instances could have been opportunities to teach someone that their words or actions were offensive. Because I stayed quiet, my silence might have been interpreted as acceptance, and I could have prolonged the problem. As a parent to bi-racial children, my balancing act is different. I am not worried that my kids will be told to “go back to your own country” like I was told as a kid. Shoot, my kids blend in so much with white kids, sometimes I can’t even tell which one is mine on a busy soccer field or in a gymnasium. My balancing act is to teach my kids about Filipino culture as much as I can because the American culture is so very strong in both me and Jamie, and honestly, I fear that if they do not identify with their Filipino heritage, the heritage will die with me. While my kids might still unfortunately experience some racial discrimination towards them, they might find themselves witnessing it more amongst or towards their peers. But just because it is not happening directly to them, I still want them to stand up for those who are being targeted or treated differently. The more people speak against it, the less breath it will have to thrive in this society. But it’s going to continue to be a long road with far too many bumps along the way.
While I would love to protect my kids from experiencing racism and social injustices, it’s not beneficial to them, and quite frankly, it’s impossible. My best move as a parent is to teach them how to deal with the evils of the world and not to perpetuate hate in any form. My goal, not just as a parent, but as an Asian American who finally found a voice, is to be able to have these difficult conversations, however uncomfortable and emotionally charged they may be, with people who will hopefully be open enough to listen. I know there are people out there who value and choose humanity over defensiveness, who want to listen and learn instead of debate their side, who are brave enough to say, “You know what, I’ve been thinking and acting a certain way for years. I didn’t realize I was being hurtful. But I see now that I could learn and change for the better.” Or maybe you were like me, not speaking against it enough to be heard, and you want to talk about how that impacted your life, and how we can use our experiences to bring about change. That would be great too. Sounds cheesy? Too positive? Yes and yes, and I want that all. I have to believe in my gut that people want to have such conversations. I don’t have a quick fix, and I really have no concrete solutions to end racism. But I think open conversations, no matter what your experience, is a start. Like my kids’ preschool director always said, “Practice makes permanent.” If we practice talking about diversity, practice acceptance, practice kindness and compassion, practice introspection, practice forgiveness, maybe positive changes can be permanent. So if you’re out there and are ready to talk, find me at Michaels; I’ll be the one sweating and cursing in the aisles, waiting to be rescued. Hey, we can save each other.
The Mundame 