On Sitting at the Same Table

The photo above is the best I could do to illustrate this post. I spent about a half hour searching for an image that showed what I was going to talk about - with little luck. Because what I'm about to convey is - obviously - very uncommon.

The other day, I was hanging out with my kids at lunch, munching on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (with apricot jelly - that's my lunch almost every day at school) and watching them interact. I looked around at the various clumps of kids talking and messing with each other, and something seemed strange.

They were laughing and playing with their food - nothing odd there. The girls and boys were insulting each other while simultaneously trying to find a reason to touch each other - perfectly natural.

So what was up?

OH! The groups weren't separated by race!

Seriously.

Now, a while back, I wrote a post (On Kids and Race) about the kids self-segregating themselves by race in the classroom and at lunch (when they had a choice of seats). Basically, I argued that that wasn't such a bad thing - inherently - and that it reflected true diversity in the fact that there were enough of each race for kids to actually do that. I said that it was all about being comfortable and finding security, and so it was good that the kids were able to find that (and that that's just how things fall out).

But, suddenly (probably not so suddenly, but that's how I noticed it), we're two-thirds through the school year, and the kids are sitting in groups that are all mixed up, racially.

So now, I have to ask - how did THAT happen?! After my post about how self-segregation is natural and happens everywhere, how can I explain how it stopped happening in our school?

The truth? It didn't.

That's right - even though all the kids are sitting in little photo-op racially-diverse groups at lunch, self-segregation has not stopped happening.

Instead, it's just the characteristics that the kids are self-segregating for have changed.

We're a small school (60 students total in our student body). We've kept our main group (probably about 40 kids) largely intact through the year (kids come and go all the time with us, but we've been able to retain more this year). We are a relationship-based program, so we are constantly talking about building our school community, kids sit down with each other and talk out their conflicts (it's hard to avoid connection when you're two middle school kids explaining why you're angry and sharing other feelings with each other). Our kids constantly talk about our school as a family (with the positives and negatives that come from that).

And so they know each other pretty well, now. They started by dividing themselves up by race for immediate comfort and security, but - due to the way we do things, combined with the small population - they couldn't avoid learning about each other. They couldn't avoid interacting with each other. And so they couldn't avoid finding common ground with each other. And, subsequently - they couldn't avoid making friends with folks outside of their respective races.

It's a beautiful little social experiment tied up in a neat little bow.

But does this all mean that there aren't cliques? Of course not. Does it mean that the kids "all just get along"? No. It just means that tensions and divisions drawn along racial lines are few and far between.

It's noticeable in behavior, as well. Earlier in the year, the kids of color who had trouble with our white teachers would often fall back on race as an issue and explanation for why they had trouble in those classes (to be honest, I think those were actually pretty accurate assessments); but now, the kids are more likely to find specific reasons and actions for the disconnect, without necessarily tying them to race.*

I don't hear the students lumping a bunch of students together by race in explanations of who they have problems with - race is no longer the unifier, and so they are much less likely to group or stereotype by race.

And these are all HUGE. Middle school kids are always going to have conflicts. They're always going to take out their frustrations on somebody else, at times (especially kids like the ones I work with, who have plenty of valid reasons to be frustrated). But if they have removed the lens of race as a means to focus on who to blame or who to be angry at, that's an incredibly important thing.

And it all goes to show that all it really takes is exposure. Science has proven this time and again, but nobody seems to follow through on acting on that. If kids (and adults) just had to work with large numbers of folks of another race (or many other races) on a regular basis over an extended period of time, their inherent prejudices and stereotypes would fade. Period.

The key being large numbers of another race. White folks like to talk about their (one or two) "black friends" as proof of their lack of prejudice - while living out a lie. The reason that is possible? Because those few black (or other raced) friends are only kept in mind as the exception. It takes much larger numbers - the true diversity I have mentioned before - to change rules (that's just how the human mind works).

Same thing for every other race or minority group. Enmity and anger and blame and misunderstanding attached to an entire group based on race cannot go away (or at least be handled reasonably) without full, consistent exposure to other groups.

Which makes me always think of my solution to the problems of race in this country: mandatory social service. At age 18, everybody enters a two-year social service program that entails moving to another state and living and working with a group of other young people of all different races and backgrounds. It would broaden folks' life experiences, improve our infrastructure (without using prisoners as slave-labor, but that's another story), and expose everybody in this f-ing country to people unlike themselves. Cause them to form bonds with people that don't look like them. And make it so much more likely that general empathy and understanding would start seeping into how people in this country dealt with each other on a regular basis.

And I know what a lot you are thinking - "like that would change anything - everybody would just self-segregate by race and background right off the bat, which would increase tensions." And you'd be right - at the beginning. But two years is a long time (in some ways). Enough to put folks in positions - time and again - to rely on the people from other backgrounds. To get to know those from other backgrounds. And, eventually (as with my school), to become friends with those from other backgrounds. And how beautiful would that be?

It won't ever happen, of course. But it would work. Maybe when I become the third mixed-race president . . .

*A quick note here - I really do think that race is a major reason for why the teachers weren't able to connect fully with those students (I think that's our biggest failure as a program, our lack of true diversity in experience and understanding by staff, in general). By no means were the kids playing the "race card." However, it's still very important that the kids are now able to specify exactly what things are happening that they have difficulty with, as opposed to extrapolating it out to simply a matter of race and leaving it at that.

On Bad Timing for a Good Thing

So - if you've been reading this blog (somewhat) regularly, you know that I'm pretty frustrated with the education system these days. I find it misguided, often irrelevant, and completely unequal in the opportunities it offers kids based on class and race (and gender, I should add).

As a result, I've been pondering a break. With this frustration on me, with my seeming inability to do some inspired math teaching, it seemed like a good time to make a move. I've known for a long time that I need to spend some real time in China to finally figure out what that side of my blood all means to me, but things keep coming up. So I decided that - next Fall/Winter - no matter what, I was going to make that trip, and I wasn't about to let anything get in my way.

Which seemed perfect, since I was feeling a little burnt, anyway. So I gave word to my boss and my co-workers, and I started making plans. For the last few months, I've been slowly setting up my departure from this country, and it seemed like everything was falling into place to make that the best choice.

And then, today, something happened. I sat down with my boss (we have scheduled one-on-one meetings every two weeks or so) and started talking about improvements we could make to our school's structure and way of doing things to best meet our kids' (and our staffs', really) needs. I talked - again - about my frustration with the State math standards. How I felt they kept me from doing my best teaching. How my elective classes (Psychology and Music Production) have been so damn FUN and educational and positive for the kids (and me). How I wished there was a way I could do the same for my math classes.

And none of that was new, really. I've had this conversation before. And, basically, they ended up with me and my boss agreeing that I just wasn't as passionate about math, and so I didn't spend the time making it as dynamic and empowering as my elective classes. That's where it would have ended any other today.

But today . . . I don't know what happened. But right when I would have normally hit that wall I've hit so often this year (of "f-ing system sucks, no way around it, f--- math"), I kept right on going to a SOLUTION. Inspiration struck me right between the eyes, and I couldn't stop talking. I started talking about how I could totally restructure the math curriculum to stop even looking like a math class. How I could basically turn it all into faux-electives that just so happened to teach all the hard math skills I've been trying to teach - but in a more hands-on, relevant way to the kids.

My boss mentioned me not coming back, and I said, "yeah . . ."

But I couldn't stop. The meeting ended, and I ran to my room, sat down at my desk with a pencil and the state math standards, and I drew out an outline of my restructured math curriculum. Suddenly, "Math" had turned into a year-long project divided into three large pieces - from start to finish, the kids were going to come up with a new product to market, test "public interest" through surveys, design a corporate office building and product, budget and make projections on earnings and market shares . . . And I incorporated almost every damn state standard into the whole deal.

The kids were going to take control over their learning, be creative, while learning hard math skills and how to apply them to real problems. Holy sh--!!! It's the freaking Holy Grail of middle school math teachers. And it just came to me like a bolt from the blue . . .

A few months before I've decided to leave the teaching field for a while.

A few months before I've decided to leave the teaching field for a while. Not enough time to implement anything at all.

And, suddenly, I'm thinking about coming back for "one more year."

But I can't - because I promised myself I wouldn't let anything stop me from making this trip. Because I know there will always be some reason to delay it for another year. Every year will bring me closer to one commitment or another that will keep me from ever being able to go. So I have to go now.

But I just came up with something so beautiful . . . And what if I never end up implementing it? What if my trip to China changes the trajectory of my life and this inspiration and (possibly) brilliant idea never makes it out to the world? Because that's how things work - I know too well.

Why did this have to happen now!? Why not a year ago? Why not in two years?

So exciting and yet so disheartening at the same time. I'm going to have to do some serious soul-searching now, and I'd rather not.

I honestly believe "everything happens for a reason," so I'll find the reason in all of this, and it should all end up how it ought to - but that doesn't make it any less beautifully frustrating right now. Not at all.

Such bad timing for such a good thing to happen . . .

On Sports as Art

Since my last post touched on the ugly side of competitive sports (giving folks all sorts of fodder for the "violence" of football, specifically), I figured it was long past due to finish this post on Sports as Art:

I know a lot of "artists." I'm friends with published poets and produced musicians. My roommate is a professional dance and drumming instructor. I work at a summer arts camp, and am subsequently friends with successful photographers, filmmakers, dance choreographers, and painters.

In my personal life, art plays a major (maybe the major) role: I write, I create original music, I draw and dabble with painting. I am interested in dance, and I try to learn about every genre of music. Art is very important.

And yet, somehow, in all of this, one major form of art remains unmentioned. In my many conversations with artist friends and the artistically-inclined, one huge section of artistic endeavor is not only unmentioned, but noted with contempt: athletics. Competitive sports.

At this point, my readers are probably feeling similar contempt - how are sports a part of the artistic family? Sports are overly-competitive, overly-macho, and violent. It is insulting to think of sports as the same as art -right?

Obviously, I disagree. So much so as to say that it's insulting and degrading for "artistic" people to so readily dismiss athletics, their value, and their aesthetic beauty.

For those who truly understand sports and immerse themselves in it, true grace on par with the most well-known dancer is seen every game. Athletes perfect their movements and body control just as much as dancers. In fact, athletes must be more perfect, due to the unpredictable nature of their art, and the need to constantly adjust and improvise based on the actions of the other artists on the field (or court, or rink, or whatever). Those who cannot see this are no different than folks who can't see anything more than a bunch of colored dots on a canvas by Matisse. It takes exposure and understanding to appreciate the subtle beauties that most people miss. Symmetry and synchronized movements can be derived from every play - just as with a dance troupe's performance.

On top of the physical beauty of the games is the mental aspect. Athletes hone their minds to be able to read the slight muscle twitches and movements of their opponents, so they can adjust accordingly. They must strategize and think steps ahead in the same way as a chess master. They do one thing at the beginning of a game to set up their opponent for a play or move not to be performed until an hour later. They see the way the person across from them orients their bodies, and they know what they are about to do next.

Participants in sports know that playing can put them in "the zone" (or a state of "flow" as eminent psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi calls it) - where focus is so perfect that time slows down, everything else disappears, and we achieve almost supernatural abilities to read other people. This is the exact same state achieved in the midst of intense artistic creation (I should know, as the only comparable state to how I feel when making music comes on the football field). Hunger, sadness, pain - all are swept aside during the minutes (or hours) of flow. It's a state of mental clarity that can only be equated with meditation - and its positive mental effects are the same.

And those who challenge the "overly-competitive" nature of sports are fooling themselves - do anybody but the most "competitive" artists succeed? Can anybody be a successful artist? Of course not. To reach mastery, you must be driven, and motivated, and work and practice all the time. And, in the end, the only way to achieve "greatness" is to be "better than" so many others. And art hardly teaches people to work well with others and recognize the inherent value of different skill sets and different levels of contribution to an overall goal.

Speaking of work, traditional art and sports echo each other in this way: innate artistic and athletic ability are often assumed of the most successful in either field. And yet, none of those people would ever claim that they didn't work their asses off, practicing constantly, to reach their goals. Those people know better than anybody else that you can always get better - they are the ones who didn't give up with recognition of that fact.

And violence? Have the sport-haters ever looked at, or listened to, the greatest works of art? Rembrandt's "Anatomical Lecture." Francisco de Goya's paintings ("Cronos Devouring his Children," for one). Symphonies based on battles and wars. East of Eden and a million other great literary works with violent depictions. The strongest emotions bring on the most beautiful art, and there is a definite beauty to the controlled physical aspects of many sports.

Folks will argue that the traditional arts use violent depictions to demonstrate their wrongness - but, as a football player, I was always taught proper technique so I didn't hurt myself or other people. When somebody gets hurt on the field, we take a knee out of respect, and we applaud their health when they get up. Never is it about hurting another person. People get physically hurt, of course, but it is just as accidental as the mental pain that graphic depictions in art can (and do) readily cause.

Creative expression? Ever know the feeling of pulling off the perfect play? Emotional expression? You should have been watching Bret Favre play the week his father died. Or teams dedicating a game to a teammate. Some of the most beautiful things I have ever witnessed.

So why do I feel this need to defend competitive sports in comparison to "art"? And why am I even writing about it on a race-focused blog?

Because the disparate opinions on "the arts" and "sports" are absolutely based on social constructions of race and class.

Who are the most famous painters in the world? Composers? Photographers? Authors?

People's personal opinions will differ, so let's adjust that question: what is the race of the most famous "artists" in the world?

Ooh . . . starting to see where I'm headed with this?

If not, here's another question: what is the race of the most famous professional athletes in the world?

I'll give you a hint - the majority of those answering the former question are very likely white. A large proportion of those answering the latter are probably African-American (or other minority races).

So I ask again - why do people have such differing opinions on "the arts" and "sports"? When people talk about the "savagery" or "violence" of a sport like football, what sub-conscious associations are going along with that? When they talk about the "beauty" and "perfection" of a master painter's work, what associations go along with that? When people consider art more "important" than sports, what social constructs are they upholding?

I work at an arts camp in the summer, and I don't know how long I've battled with the artists about having more physical activity at camp. Not just for the health of the campers, but for the messaging we give them if we denigrate physical competitions at the expense of sports. Because, for our kids of color, there are no (or very few) role models that reflect them in the art world. But there are many in the sports world. So when we tell them (flat-out or more subtly) that "art" is more important and that sports are frivolous or unimportant - what are we telling them about their role models? What are we telling them about the most successful people that look like them?

And I'm tired of it. Because, as an artist who loves sports, I see the value and importance in both. And I see how they are one and the same. And it fills me with frustration and anger when otherwise-well-meaning artists start downplaying sports when interacting with kids of color. Or when youth workers, who claim to value their kids' cultures and that they are "open-minded," do not even put in the slightest attempt to give sports respect or value in this world.

And I'll tell you - sports (football, specifically) gave me an outlet as a kid that did more for me than any art could at the time. Sports gave me confidence that art never could. And sports kept me out of trouble in a way that dabbling in art absolutely could not. It also gave me role models who worked hard and gave back to their community. My coaches were mentors and teachers. The artists I knew/heard of? They all did drugs, drank too much, womanized (or the female equivalent), and died at a young age.

So which is more valuable? These days, they have leveled out more. Now, I am as likely to immerse myself in expression through music and writing as on the playing field. And that's how it should be - equal. And important. Because, when it comes down to it - there is no difference.

Art. Sports. One and the same. And supremely important in this world.

On Escalation and Fear

Today, I dipped a toe in the waters that my students swim in every day. And, luckily for me, I was able to quickly pull it back out.

I play football every Sunday in a competitive (but recreational) flag football league. No pads, but there is full contact outside of tackling (which is what the flags are for). The competition level is relatively high (a number of semi-pro football players, ex-college athletes, some lower-level pro), but it's a recreational league. For fun. And I usually have quite a lot of fun playing (a lot of exercise, get out a bit of aggression safely and legally, with guys I enjoy playing with).

Of course, due to the fact that it's competitive and there is contact, people get a little too serious, sometimes. Tempers flare, people run their mouths - there's an occasional (but brief) fight. Of course, it's never actually the best players that run their mouths - it's the players that aren't as good but get frustrated and compensate with their mouths.

So (yeah, I'm going to stroke my own ego a minute) I don't talk trash. I don't get into it with other players. I'm the first to call out a good play by my opponent, and apologize if I get overly-aggressive. And I'm a good player, so opponents respect my abilities. As a result, I never have problems with players on the teams we play against, even if some of my teammates end up getting into it (which always pisses me off). In fact, I generally end up being asked to play with a lot of different teams (and do so, occasionally) because of my abilities and tendency to get along with folks.

But not today.

I'll try to keep the football-speak brief, but we played a team today that had one star player. Really quick, good hands, he was tearing us up a bit. So I ended up playing up on him (when I was on defense) and getting physical (putting my hands on, bumping - all legit football technique) to limit his effectiveness. And it worked. Problem was, he wasn't so happy about it, so he started running his mouth. Complaining about me holding him (I wasn't, really - again, everything perfectly legit within real football technique; I hate cheaters and dirty players more than the ones that talk mess) and getting in my face about it.

I try to calm him down. I say that I'm just playing defense, not trying to play dirty, it's all good, so just chill the f--- out. But he's not having it. Suddenly, instead of playing his game, he's trying to cheap-shot me while telling me "it's on, now - all game long." I tell him, cool. Because, in all actuality, there's nothing sweeter as a defensive player than when you can get the best player on the team to totally lose his focus and be off his game like that (we ended up killing them, as a result).

So our offense gets the ball, and I head to the sideline. My new friend (we'll call him "Mouth") is waiting for me, and continues to run his mouth about how it's on and he's going to be all over me, etc. I'm done with being friendly about it, so I just say, "go ahead," and smile. I'm not too worried about it (it's pretty easy to spot the "all talk" guy and somebody who is going to follow through; not to mention the reason he's running his mouth is because I'm dominating him, physically).

That should be that, right?

Except one of my teammates (we'll call him "P") sidles up to me and, with his back to Mouth, says, "You want me to take care of this? I've got something in the trunk for him if you want . . ."

I look in P's eyes, and he's stone-cold serious. So I tell him, "No, we're good. We're just going to keep it on the field." P says okay, and that's that, for him.

But the Mouth heard. And he suddenly gets real quiet. For the rest of the game, he doesn't say a word to me, doesn't touch me or do anything else. He ends up pulling himself out of the game, being the only one who doesn't shake hands when it's over, and he leaves before we're off the field.

And I never thought I'd find myself in a situation like that. I got in a couple fights in high school, but they were the "slap at each other and end up rolling around on the ground" kind of fights that ended quick and led to nothing else. I never thought I'd end up (especially at my age) in a spot where that next-level kind of violence was so close by. I know some of the guys I play with mix it up a bit, but I didn't intend to be part of it.

And, luckily for all of us, I didn't want it to be bigger. But, still, as I walked out into the parking lot (alone, because I was rushing to my next game), I couldn't help but keep my eyes peeled to see if something more was going to happen.

Because the Mouth was straight scared (and with good reason). And you never know how fear is going to cause somebody to react - what kind of stupid decisions it can lead to.

And I started thinking of the kids I work with. And what if this had happened in their world? What if Mouth was somebody that lived around me? Somebody I knew I'd run into on a regular basis? What if he was so scared of the next time he ran into me (or P, more likely) that he decided he needed to do something? So he gets his homies, and next time we run into each other . . . ?

Or what if I felt the need to "take care of it" worrying about what he was going to do? What if my friends or family was telling me I couldn't just let it be? Constant pressure, constant fear, constant escalation from the little and stupid into the dead serious.

That's the world my kids live in. That's why a 16 year-old kid (who used to go to our school) was shot in the face about a month ago - by some 30 year-olds. That's why a 15 year-old kid (one I've known well for the last three years - a smart, charming, well-meaning kid) got locked up for the next 3 years on a weapons charge about a week later.

When fear and a general lack of safety are given, how are people going to react? How are kids going to react?

It's that same kind of escalation and fear that causes outsider kids to go shoot up their high schools (or colleges).

It's that same escalation and fear that leads to people blowing themselves up to kill our soldiers (or citizens).

It's that same escalation and fear that leads to our soldiers returning the favor to other countries' citizens a thousand-fold.

And I am so glad of my privilege in that I can mostly avoid the direct costs of that kind of fear and escalation. I don't walk down the street with the itchy feeling of a target painted on my back. I don't live in fear of the people around me. I don't feel the need to "prove myself" or "protect myself" - because I feel safe. And that kind of safety is something I take for granted all the time.

But, today, that little tiny taste of the other side is giving me some appreciation for that safety. It makes me appreciate the safety that let me grow up where and how I did. The safety that let me let a stupid conflict while playing a game remain just that - and not a permanent regret.

And it makes me wonder how things can change. Because, ultimately, putting people in jail doesn't do a damn thing (in the case of kids I know, it just guarantees they'll come out as criminals). Increasing the police presence and profiling doesn't help. Because none of that takes away the fear (most often, it just escalates it). And, as long as the fear remains - and the feeling of safety stays away - things are not going to get better.

So how can we take away the fear?

Give kids (and adults) alternatives. Jobs. Drastically improved education. Representation. True power. Make them believe that they don't need to be afraid all the time, that they do have some control, and the rest will take care of itself.

So easy to say . . .

On Hiatus

February is a crazy month, teaching-wise, and just in general living here in Portland, so I'm going to be taking a short break from writing (gotta save my mental energy a bit). Sorry to my regular readers, but I'll be back at it (relatively) soon.

On a Mongrel's New Year

I seem to have a new Chinese New Year tradition here in Portland - eating dinner alone and thinking about my lack of Chinese-ness.

Because the thing is, after all the ish I talk about being "Asian" and my Chinese roots and all that, I still don't have a single Chinese friend here in Portland. Seriously. In spite of my spoken-word odes to my Chinese ancestors, I only have my mom's generation left, and no Chinese family close enough to visit for dinner. Even though I'm on the planning committee for an Asian Youth Conference, I ate my noodles alone in a Chinese restaurant tonight.

I walked in the door, and the lady gave me a "Happy New Year," and it felt good. I sat down, and she came back to give me a fork (although all the rest of the place-settings were there: plate, teacup, napkin, and chopsticks), and that didn't feel so good. When she saw my red Chinese shirt (my mom got it for me when she returned my grandmother's ashes to China) under my jacket, she said, "Oh! You are celebrating the New Year! Thank you!" in the same way you would thank a little kid for trying to write you out a check with crayons on construction paper.

And, again, as with last year, I find myself quietly thinking about my Chinese-ness. How much I can claim - and how much I have no right to. Are my attempts to connect to aspects of Chinese traditions (our celebrations of Chinese New Year didn't go much past red envelopes and dinner with the grandparents when I was a kid) that I did not fully grow up with a matter of respect, or a bastardization and/or insult? I don't know. And each year I am faced with this same set of questions.

I ask myself why I don't have Chinese community or friends here. Certainly, Portland isn't the best place to find Chinese people (or any non-white people, in general), but that's not it because I have friends of other colors. So maybe it's that there are no Chinese folks where I work, which is a definite factor. Or that when I've tried to take part in what should be Chinese group activities, I've fallen short (I signed up for a Tai Chi class - my grandmother taught Tai Chi, and I wanted to honor her after she died - where I was the only Chinese-blooded participant, teacher included).*

But what I keep coming back to is the fact that I'm not really Chinese. Those Chinese "gangsta" youth I mentioned in my last post were calling me out as a "sell-out," remember ? I'm just a mongrel that doesn't look Chinese enough for people not to be confused when they see me wearing Chinese shirts. And that's what I'm always going to be.

And so I remind myself on this day that it's up to me to create my own traditions. I am the pooling together of many different cultures, and so there is nothing wrong in my personal "traditions" being as mixed and partial as the racial identifiers in my physical appearance. To me, Chinese New Year is as much about how I grew up and honoring my ancestors (which I do) as it is about figuring out what fits.

And so, for me, the CVT's Chinese New Year traditions look like this:

- I try to do some sort of house-cleaning (or self-cleaning) before the New Year for good luck and new beginnings (it's not the most thorough, though).
- The morning of, I wake up, go to my grandparents' (on both sides) little "altar" and bow three times to all four of them (they are all dead, now).
- I dress in as much red as possible (definitely wearing my red short-sleeve Chinese shirt), down to my red shoelaces.**
- I make a point of writing "Happy New Year!" (instead of "Happy Chinese New Year") on my board at school, so my kids ask me about it in every class, and I take some time to talk about it (which usually ends up with a short description of how I grew up, since, undoubtedly, a few are like "You're Chinese!?")
- I try to bring in some jellyfish and chicken's feet for the kids to try (chicken's feet because that's all my grandmother, aunts, and mother would eat when we went to Chinatown for dim sum; jellyfish because that was one of my favorites as a kid, and my students think it's so 'gross').
- I go by myself to the little Chinese restaurant near where I used to live (it's not the best, but it's hurting, financially, so I try to go there as frequently as I can) and eat some uncut noodles (for long life) and Chinese vegetables with rice, alone.
- I think about how this last year has gone, how far I've come, and where I need to get headed.
- And I spend serious time pondering my identity and all it means to me; and what I need to do to get a better grip on it.
- And, for the last two years, I've written a blog post about it.
- Finally, I'll light some red candles at night, bow to my grandparents some more, and enjoy flame-lit darkness.

Overall, I don't think it's such a bad set of traditions. I might add on a bit as I get older (I plan on going to live in China a while, maybe as soon as this coming Fall, so that should change my views a bit), but this is what works for me, right now. And that's all there is to it.

They say that what happens on the first day is a preview of the coming year, so if quiet reflection, good food, and some personal writing are what's in store for me, I won't complain. They also say that every dog has his day - and it's no different for this one. I may not do it up fully "Chinese," but that wouldn't be appropriate if I did, and so I'll just be content to do it up my own style during my Mongrel Chinese New Year.

And so I wish all my readers a Happy New Year (whenever yours began), and may you all have long lives, luck, and prosperity in the future.

And if any of y'all want to send me some hong bao full of cash, I'd have no problem adding that to my list of traditions above . . .


* Oddly enough, outside of Chinese restaurants, the most Asian folks (of any ethnicity) I've seen were at a b-boy battle I went to last Saturday night, but that's a conversation for another day.

** I made sure to explain the "good luck" of wearing red to my kids at school, since the majority are gang-affected.

*** And, just for clarity, I happen to be a monkey, not a dog, but the picture's about referencing my title . . .

On "Baby"

On the box for the movie, "Baby" is compared to both "Boyz n the Hood" and "Scarface." And, since those movies are so completely different in style and general themes, that pretty much sums up how hard it is for movie critics to stay away from ridiculous generalizations and stereotypes.

They could have at least compared it to "Better Luck Tomorrow" (even though "Baby" isn't really like that, either) - except for the fact that nobody's ever heard of it (look it up).

So why did the critics have such a hard time having any legit movie comparisons for "Baby"? Because it's about Asian Americans. Gangsters. Asian American gangsters. Right. A lot of movies like that out there.

The movie is set in the early 90s (with flashbacks into the 80s), following the (brief - he's only 18 at his oldest in the film) life of Baby - a Cantonese American, son of a drunk, no mother - drawn into gang life for lack of other, healthier family. Let's just say it's not exactly an uplifting film.

And it's not a bad film. At all. The start is a bit rough, but by the middle of the movie, I was drawn in fully. It does a pretty solid job of depicting the quicksand-like fall into trouble that urban gang life represents - as well as the fact that juvenile justice facilities pretty much only guarantee that kids come out as criminals (whether or not that's how they went in) with no skills for living clean once out.

Of course, for me, I had other reasons to appreciate this film. First and foremost, obviously, was the fact that the majority of the characters (and all of the major roles) were portrayed by Asian Americans. How many American movies out there can say that? Better yet - different Asian ethnicities were portrayed by - sit down before you read this - different Asian ethnicities! Seriously. The Chinese folks spoke Chinese (Cantonese, actually), Vietnamese spoke Vietnamese, and there were Koreans, as well. Hell - there were multiple fight scenes where not one of the characters performed a spinning jump kick or any other form of martial art. I mean - damn. Is that even legal!?

And I'm not done yet. Being set in the 90s, the "Asian Gangster Chic" styles represented in the film were all too familiar (as I was a 90s teen, myself). Baby's hairstyle for the second half of the movie alone gave me a little bit of "back in the day" nostalgia for the days when all the Asian Gangstaz at my high school gave me shit for being an "Asian sell-out." It seriously made me miss them.

And, finally, it addressed something that gets absolutely NO attention in the media or otherwise - there are Asian American gangs. Lots of them. And I'm not talking about the freaking Triads or Yakuza, I'm talking Asian Americans. Kids who speak English just as well as (or better than) their ancestors' dialects. Kids who grow up in the same segregated poverty that the better-known, darker-skinned gangbangers come from. Different in a lot of ways, but so very much the same.

Of course, not so much the same that it's not insulting that the San Francisco Chronicle called it the "Asian American 'Boyz n the Hood,'" or that the SFist.com said that, "For Asian American movie watchers, 'Baby' is going to become their 'Scarface.'" Seriously?

We're not following the clean kid whose father is teaching him how to be a man. There is no glorification, no rise to power here. And why is it that this movie is obviously expected to be seen only by Asian Americans?

Oh, right - because it is. Trying to find an image to put on this post, I found the Korean baby singing "Hey Jude" instead about 8 out of 10 times. The only sites that reference it are Asian American film sites (or blogs).

Hell - the only reason I picked it up was because it had a picture of a bad-ass Asian dude, guns blazing on the cover. Probably the same reason most other folks will put it back down. It makes me wonder if non-Asian folks could even watch this movie without feeling like they had to totally suspend their disbelief the whole time ("yeah right - like Asian-Americans live like that - this isn't Thailand!").*

I don't know. This was a piss-poor movie review, but what else can I say? There's nothing to compare it to. Maybe it kind of was like "Boyz n the Hood" . . .

* I remember my brother telling me how, when she saw "Better Luck Tomorrow," my Chinese aunt said that she didn't like it because "Asian teens don't do that kind of thing." Ai yaa!!!