Another Camp Triumph: Wasian Pride

This will be a briefer post on another camp triumph – and one that hits even more personally.

It’s about Wasians.

Specifically, it’s about two Wasians: myself, and a camper.

If you’re unclear on what a Wasian is, it’s a bi-racial, White and Asian person. You should already know my mix, but the camper’s mix is White (mother) and Cambodian (father).

This particular camper happens to be one of my middle school students who I had all through last year. The same kid who asked me about my choice in music, and when I told him I listened to “pretty much anything,” he answered, “is that because you’re Wasian, and we don’t really fit in anywhere?”

Outside of his brother, I’m very likely the only other Wasian this kid knows. And so he – being a conscious being – has attached to me. Because he is trying to figure out his Wasian place in the world, and there are not a lot of places to look when trying to find this answer. Especially in Portland.

So I’ve assumed a lot of responsibility for this one kid – because I understand just how important it is for him to have a Wasian role model (since I never had one). Somebody to help show him how a Wasian can be in the world.

And we’ve talked about it a lot. Talked about not fitting in and how our mix determines how other people perceive us. And we unite over it (he often would yell “Wasian Pride!!!” when he saw me arriving at school in the morning) and share a very overt connection over our specific mix.

So when he made it out to camp, we came to a decision: we were going to write a “Wasian rap” and perform it together at the camp’s big Open Mic night.

I’m not really going to go into much more detail than that. It’s not necessary. Just the fact that this kid – self-identified “Wasian” (I’ve never used the term until he started referencing it) – wrote a piece about his own identity and life, and I had the honor of being invited to share the stage with him as he performed it for a crowd of his peers (none of them Wasian, of course).*

I saw his pride. I heard it in his voice when he spoke into the mic and introduced our performance with, “We’re both Wasian . . .” And so I couldn't control the sh--eating grin that spread over my face when the crowd went nuts for him, afterwards. Because he's a great kid, and I get excited for all of my kids when they get to have a moment like that (a moment of bravery when they stand up in front of their peers and share a piece of themselves). But it was even more sweet because I couldn't help but think about my own youth, and how cool it would have been if my specific way of identifying could have been validated like that - so strongly and positively - before I grew into adulthood.

I complain a lot. A lot of this blog is full of negative experiences. But this was not one of those. I got to be a role model to a kid who is currently living an outsider life – one that I can directly relate to - and share a moment of triumph with him.

And he’s not going to follow in my footsteps – Hell no. No, instead, I hope that he can jump past a few years of my own insecurities and, as a result, walk his own path more strongly and effectively. And wherever that takes him – that’s exactly how Wasians do it.

Because that's the ultimate goal here, as a role model: to validate the kids' experiences and identities (however they are) while showing them that those very experiences and identities don't have to be strict guidelines to how they end up living their lives.

Yeah - he's Wasian, and proud of it. And that's a very positive thing. And, more importantly, having grasped that so early, he is now free to do whatever he wants with it.

And that's that.

* The two pieces we spliced together for the performance didn't end up being about being specifically Wasian, but they regarded our identities and how we are as individuals in the world - which, in the end, is about being Wasian for both of us.

** The photo is of Kip Fullbeck, Wasian author of "Paper Bullets," sometimes spoken-word artist, and creator of the Hapa Project.

I Love Kids

My posts are way too often tinged with negativity and semi-whininess. So I thought it's about time I post another celebration.

So today at work, I was really bored. I mean, really bored. And that's not something that happens so often when you're a middle school teacher. Some years - it never happens at all.

The reason was that the kids were doing testing (their final round of standardized math testing), so all I got to do today was sit around and watch them test. No teaching. Not a lot of interaction. So little going on, I ended up completing about a million kid word searches that I had on hand (for the kids, of course).

Of course, testing isn't always boring. But my kids have a good thing going these days, and that's their pride. They honestly believe that they can do these tests, they take them seriously, and so they are willing to focus for them. That's not something that happened my first years at the helm, but I've got it going, now.

And it's kind of a problem. Because, when they're totally focused like that - I don't know what to do with myself. I just watch the clock and look forward to "later" coming. Because I didn't choose to teach to sit around and watch kids work silently. Not me.

I chose to teach because I love interacting with kids. I mean - f-ing love it.

And I was thinking about that today (because I had a lot of time to think). Why is it that I love being around kids so much? Especially these middle school kids who so many other folks can't handle?

I thought it through: well, there's their energy. They bring so much energy, I can't help but get a little bit infected by it. They also like to play around - and in such a better way than most adults do - so I get a big kick out of that. In fact, I have my kids calling me out from time to time because I "play too much" (sometimes, I'm actually the one who breaks their long, focused silences because I need to joke around). They're so very unpredictable and ridiculous - and I've never been one to enjoy the comforts of routine or outright predictability.

All good reasons to like hanging around kids. But not enough, really, to love them, right?

And then I got it: I love kids because they are the one sub-set of human beings with whom I can just flat-out get over myself. I don't take anything personally with them. They can insult me or try to be "mean," and I just find it amusing. They can do the most irritating things in the world, and I crack up because it's so ridiculous. They say something ignorant about race, and I just shrug it off and use it as an opportunity to do some real teaching. I don't get all caught up in my own world with them. I can just accept them for who they are - and love them for it. I can forgive them for their actions - because they're just kids, and they're learning how to be people in the world.

And that's not how it is with adults (as hard as I try to react that way). I can't forgive adults so easily. Whereas I don't trust adults to just tell me the mildly painful truths instead of trying to sugarcoat things - kids will just say it. They don't make things more painful by throwing white lies around. They're devastatingly honest (at times), and I love them for that, as well.

And just as I am able to forget myself and just be with kids, I can also get over their self-centered natures. Because they are kids - and kids should be the center of their own worlds. A kid shouldn't care about what's going on in my real world. A kid doesn't need to ask sincere questions - because I should be doing all that with them.

Adults? Yeah, right. Human adults are the most disappointing creatures. So few are any different than those kids in their self-centeredness, in spite of their supposed "maturity." And since they are adults - they just disappoint.

Kids are supposed to be ignorant - they really don't know any better, and so they give me hope. Because they can learn, and change, and improve in how they are in the world. Adults? Too caught up in their own pasts and fears and insecurities to make the right decisions or really change.

And I wish I was perfect enough to feel otherwise. I wish I could just love all these grown-up kids without judgment like I do with the younger versions - but I can't. Sometimes, I can do a pretty good job of it. But too often I'm unable to pull myself out of the picture and just let things be. To not get caught up in my own world and wholeheartedly explore and enjoy theirs. I just end up disappointed too often.

But with the kids? Never. They never disappoint me - and all too often they make me proud. They constantly surprise me and make me laugh harder than I thought possible. They bring out my very best, consistently. When I'm not in the best mood, they snap me out of it quick. When I'm in the best mood, they come join me. Just watching kids do random little things - like talk to themselves, or laugh at something that isn't funny at all, or get all excited about a gift or new toy - just gives me the biggest grin. What can I say?

It's the kids.

I'm about to take some time off from teaching, but there's no way in Hell it's going to last too long. Make my trip - learn and see what I need to learn and see. Then get my ass back with the kids the next moment. That's the only guarantee I have for my future. And that's - honestly - all that really matters, in the long run.

So I dedicate my upcoming trip and all the things I do to the kids. Because.

I just love kids.

On Interracial Relationships: Part I (My Own)

On Interracial Relationships: Part I (My Own),

It has come to my attention that the following passage I put into my previous (first) post is a bit problematic:

I have pondered long and hard how the racial identity of the mother of my future children would affect my ability to connect to them. I have also thought about how that mother's racial identity would either let down or make proud my grandparents.

I don't want my children to be whiter than me.

It's problematic on a number of levels (not all of which I will get into), of course, but the main one is this: as the product of an interracial conception, how can I - more so than anybody - be okay with race as a possible pre-requisite in a future wife?

Me - a "bridge between races" - trying to build that bridge up with thoughts of specifically avoiding a particular race (white) to date. How can that even be mildly acceptable?

I'm not sure if it is. Because, of course, my exposure to race has caused me to realize that race guarantees little in this life (other than how prejudice and stereotypes will be experienced). Truly. Sure, white folks are less likely to be aware of how white privilege works or all the little things that keep the racial hierarchy in order, but that's not everything. Because black folks are equally likely to be unaware of the Asian racial experience and to say ignorant things about it. Everybody is ignorant of Native American experience, etc.

So how can I possibly make such a statement as the one above? What is my opinion of interracial relationships?

The simple answer? I really have no idea. As with many of my thoughts on race, due to my experience, I'm mixed. I go back and forth. So let's start at the beginning (disclaimer, I'm going to stick to the heterosexual experience, because that's all I have, and I feel in no position to comment on a situation I have no personal insight on):

By definition, almost every romantic relationship I've ever been in has been "interracial." Only one time have I ever been quasi-involved with a mixed Asian/white girl - and that never made it to full-blown "relationship" status. In terms of mono-racial ladies, I have been involved with white, Jewish (it IS different than just "white"), Asian, and black women (to varying degrees of seriousness). I have also gotten mixed up with Asian/white, Mexican/white, and black/white bi-racial ladies.

So. What have these varying experiments in interracial dating taught me? Not a whole lot.

In my outside life, in terms of friendships, I have found myself most easily able to immediately connect to mixed folks. There's some sort of mystical bond going on there that causes us to be drawn together in casual friendship, all things being equal (i.e. in a room full of people I don't know, it's easiest to get along with the mixed folks - of course, there are seldom rooms of strangers with ANY mixed folks other than me, so it might just be an outlying statistic that cannot be treated with any real significance).

In relationships, being with another mixed person definitely opened up a level of unspoken understanding that was pretty nice. Being with someone that I knew could understand a way of being that so few people I ever talk to can understand was like snuggling into a warm downy comforter on a winter day. However, that's the only constant through those relationships. I'm not with any of those ladies now (and I don't think about going back), so - obviously - that wasn't enough.

So what about the other races? One of the white girls told me she "didn't even think of me as Chinese" - NEXT! One Asian (Korean) girl my friends tried to set me up with in college was probably the most annoying girl I've ever (and may ever) meet. I've had a black woman friend (granted, not somebody I was dating) argue with me about my experience of race (trying to tell me that I was wrong in what I was saying about other people's perception of my racial background).

My Jewish ex is/was probably the only non-mixed lady that seemed to get the closest grasp of it all. I think that's due to the ambiguous "other"-ness of Jews in America: sort of blending in at times, but then being completely left out of "standard" white culture during Christmas and other co-opted Christian Hallmark holidays. The (un-asked-for) ability to be a "spy" to people spouting anti-semitic speech thinking "they aren't around." It's not a coincidence that a bunch of my cousins ended up marrying Jewish guys. And that was the closest relationship (by far) of all of them. Of course, it was due to a lot of different things (she certainly listened the best of all of them). In the end, she dumped me, though, so . . . (just messing with you, A - sort of).

Right. So the overwhelming message? Race doesn't really mean anything at all in relationships. It's no guarantee of compatibility, understanding, communication, or anything else. Yeah - a lot of white women are ridiculously ignorant about race, but I wouldn't end up talking to any of them, anyway (let alone dating them). I'm commitment-phobic enough to be scared off of most women of any race, so anybody who made it through that particular set of defenses would be impressive enough for race to be the least important factor.

And yet I still think about it. Why?

Because of my future child.

I know, first-hand, what it is like to not look my parents. To have this strange racial barrier hanging between myself and them. To know that there are a lot of things about how I've walked through this world that they just cannot understand. It's not so looming with my mother (the forced bi-cultural immigrant experience echoing the mixed experience in America). With my dad? It's HUGE.

And I don't want that to be the case with my child. I don't want that barrier. And I know some of that can be alleviated (no matter what he/she looks like) by honest communication, but communication cannot fully make up for a disconnect in shared experience.

The other (bigger) part? I am a middle school teacher. I work with an interesting population of kids. One day, one of those kids (who is 1/4th Japanese - biracial mother, white father) came up to me. He told me how he had been walking down the street while some "chink" was following him, saying something, and he wanted to know if I knew what the word she kept repeating meant (he knew my background). I, of course, backed up a step and asked him if he knew what he just said was, and he responded, "No - that's why I'm asking you."

I was surprised for a minute until I realized that he thought I was talking about the "Asian" word he had asked me to define. He had NO IDEA that I was referring to his use of the word "chink." So I explained to him what that meant, why it was an issue, etc. And he got it (he even apologized).

But this is what I took from that experience - this kid, with a quarter Asian blood, was already so far removed from that part of himself (due to "looking white") that he didn't even know that "chink" wasn't okay to say. And that hit me so hard, and has sat in the pit of my stomach since. If I don't have a kid with a full-Asian or mixed woman, would that happen with my kid? Sure, I would make sure s/he knew what those words meant, but that couldn't avoid the disconnect with the race and culture. How people perceive us is largely how we experience the world, and I don't want my kid to lose that.

Especially knowing how important it was to my (Chinese) grandparents. My family has quickly faded towards white in three short generations. I may be the "last chance" to keep the Chinese blood flowing.

This is what it means to be mixed in America. To be torn both ways, never knowing which one is right.

For myself, on a personal level? The race won't make a difference. It's going to come down to the distinct personality and make-up of the woman that works for me. I DO know that whoever it is would have to be well-rounded and have a large range of interests. Racially? The quality of my relationship will have nothing to do with the race.

For my kids and ancestors? History and posterity? Race looms large. But if it's not the best relationship, won't that still screw up my racially-matching, possibly proudly-Chinese children? Absolutely.

So I end up back where I began it all. Mixed-up, confused, expecting that neither choice will end up feeling 100% right. Intuition telling me I have to just go for the best RELATIONSHIP, regardless of race, but knowing that that will leave me feeling that I let down my grandparents.*

Isn't race a wonderful thing?

And that's where I lie on interracial relationships as they pertain to me, directly. Next: my judgement on others.



*An interesting side-note: funny how I worry about letting down my Chinese grandparents (and ancestors) but don't worry about letting down my white (Russian/Irish) grandparents and ancestors. I'll just leave that at that for now - if you'd like to comment and ask for more about that, be my guest.