I am Your Asian Mother…
If we went back in time. Say 10,000 or 20,000 years ago, we
might be surprised that we are made up of the cultures we don’t think we are.
That being said, I’m certain we are all related. I’ve noticed recently, our
supposedly sensitivity to other’s culture is lopsided on both ends of the
spectrum. Follow me.
When I was a teenager sitting in Mr. Ritchie’s Biology
class, I daydreamed here and there. He’d catch me daydreaming. He’d never gotten
angry. He’d smile and wouldn’t pick on me. He would remark, “You out running in
your daydream?” I’d reply, “Uh. Yeah.” He’d smile. Mr. Ritchie never asked me
who I was running with. In my daydreams, I was running with foreigners. Who I
thought I’d never meet. For I figured, I’d never have the money to visit them
in their countries. I didn’t come from much.
So, when in my senior year of high school. I was offered the
Non-Western Civilization class for my third required history course to graduate
high school. It was perfect for me. I
thrived in the class. It was perhaps one of the most relaxing classes I ever took
in high school. We studied mostly China and Russia. Too, discussing communism
it’s rise and it’s effects on humanity. It also reaffirmed that the democracy
we had in the 1970’s may not have been perfect. However, it was a much better
form of government (political system) than communism, totalitarianism,
authoritarianism and socialism, just to name a few.
Little did I know, I would actually visit a communist
country in my lifetime. But it happened. Once more, way before that I began to
understand the Asian community. Even here, residing in the United States, it
grew on me. I loved their debates. I loved the varying foods of Asian cultures.
I began to reason with and believe in the proper use of Asian
medicine, such as Chinese Herbs and many forms of Acupuncture. Which it
resolved most of the health issues I had; and injuries that I’d incurred over
time. Whereas, the allopathic medical system here in the United States to me
was run like a ‘puppy-mill’, when it came to women/girls being properly
diagnosed for simple things, and some things not so simple.
About six years ago, our youngest then age eleven commented,
“Mom. You’re such an Asian Mother.” I asked, “How so?” Knowing full-well I was doing my best to run
an Asian ship for our two adopted Chinese daughters. I was studying Chinese
long before they were born, on my own. I’d adapted to much of an Eastern way of
thinking concerning medicine ten years prior to becoming an Asian Mother.
Before becoming an Asian Mother, I went out for tea and soup
with friends of Asian descent for lunch here and there. Not knowing of my
life’s direction. They were usually at places where the owners and servers were
from China. It allowed me to practice my speaking in Chinese.
My curiosity remained peaked on Asian culture, primarily
Chinese culture. I had no clue what lie ahead for my husband and I, over thirty
years ago when it came to becoming parents. As well, of the two of us I knew
I’d be pegged as the ‘bad cop’ when it came to raising children. It sat well
with me.
As we were finally to become parents, I worked on adopting
their culture within my home. As I had my husband’s religious culture. My
husband remarked, “You know, we will be an interfaith and interracial family?”
Giddy, as he thought it was a cool combination. I tilted my head, “I never
thought about that. I just want to raise children.” We nodded in agreement.
From September 2006 till May 2017 I involved our daughters
in some Chinese dance for a year. Chinese Art for a few years, which was taught
by a Chinese man, named Ming. A man ‘right off the boat’ from China. The amazing scissor art Ming taught them, is
what they’d do every other Friday afternoon. It was stupendous. Something I
could have never accomplished. They were able to do at ages five and seven with
proficiency.
At first, our daughters had Chinese language every other
Friday. Then by the summer of 2009, I decided they should have private Chinese
language lessons once a week. That, we continued till May 2017 as our daughters
would be turning ages thirteen and fifteen just months away. They were having
more homework from regular school studies by then. Too, they were at karate
three to five days a week. Our youngest wanted to paint and draw all day on her
time off as well. Our oldest was busy with her first job at age fourteen and
began her social life that she had been too shy to have in our mostly white
community.
In May of 2017, I bemoaned to my husband that the children
were not always doing their Chinese homework. As well, our 2nd
private Chinese tutor was retiring at age eighty-eight. Both Chinese tutors we
had, ran their Chinese households as if they were in China. It was a great
cultural lesson that our daughters may have not appreciated. Yet, they were
exposed to at ages that were impressionable. I surmised it was all I could
muster without turning our daughters off to their culture.
By early 2009, our oldest daughter had an obsession with certain
winter sports on television. Too, the people that performed them. Her favorite
downhill skier was Lindsey Vohn a blonde haired woman of the USA Ski team. And one
of her favorite sports was curling. Yes, curling. Her introduction was watching
team China compete in curling on a world stage. That caught her attention. When
the USA would lose, she would then root for China.
As our daughters were tweener’s not quite teenagers. They
would stay up and watch the original Kung Fu series from the 1970’s with my
husband and I on a Saturday night. They were sort of ‘Trekky’s by ages ten and
eight. Our dinner times, were maintained even with my double work schedule.
Having a full time business; with having an athletic career. Training quite
often at one or two in the morning. My husband a Math teacher, who also did other
school oriented work. We coupled together on my insane charitable runs.
We shared our athletic interests with our daughters. My husband
introduced them to downhill skiing and summer swim team. I introduced them to
the fight world, track and field. In the winter, when they weren’t skiing with
hubby, I’d take to a local outdoor pond when frozen over, skating and then
teaching them hockey. Yes, I bought them skates and hockey sticks. They never
got hurt, neither hurt anyone else on the big pond.
Many times, at our dinner table we would discuss math and
sometimes science. Quite often we would pull out a piece of paper and pen and
rehash as to why one of our daughters got a problem wrong on their math tests.
My husband of course was the tackler of the math issue. And as our oldest became
more math savvy, she’d consult him to help correct her younger sister’s math.
My place was science/biology and religion.
In the mornings, I usually taught them my husband’s religion
four days a week. To the point that to this day they still bless their food
before dinner in our home in two languages…ehhhh hmmmm, before taking a bite to
eat. For about ten years I grilled them on nineteen of the twenty-seven amendments,
the ten commandments and being grateful every day. Four mornings a week before
school for ten years, I had them read medical books for three minutes or so out
loud. Mostly so I could listen to their pace of reading and their speech. Yet
also to make certain that they had good body awareness and knowledge of how to
care for their bodies, when I would no longer be around.
However, the one thing I have tried to convey to them. In a
gentle sort of manner. Yet, there is no gentle way to deliver certain messages
to your children. I’ve become more vocal
over the last few years to our daughters. Especially, since their father, my
husband died. They’ve heard me speak of racism aimed at them and others who are
minorities. As well, not just the bigotry aimed at their culture(s), but bigotry
aimed at other people of color. Moreso, towards women of color in this country,
and particularly in our county. Our county is well-educated, most wealthy
compared to other areas not only in our state. Yet, in our country too.
So here we have a county, a community with a high education
level. A monetary comfort zone compared to most. Yet, the old majority is still
willing to make excuses to not recognize that racism is wrong. In fact, the
majority refuses to discuss the notion of its very existence. To the point,
declared to me recently by a white man my age, “I’m sick of hearing about racism.
It’s too much.” I was bewildered by that comment, for I have seen it quite to
the contrary. We don’t address it enough. Especially, in our homes. Why? It’s
uncomfortable. Or it doesn’t seem to effect the majority. Too, the majority could
feel the guilt, which may make them rectify their thinking. For me, I don’t
want my children, now nearly both adults to feel hatred towards their culture at
every turn. Yet, as a parent it’s my responsibility to discuss uncomfortable things.
I willingly have done and do so.
This brings me to last night. My daughters and I were
discussing a person in town who is ill. Seemingly, many people know about this
person. They haven’t harmed anyone. They
act goofy, wear goofy get-ups and such. Too, the person is mentally ill. That
is not the issue. The issue is what I heard the young adults and some other
adults in town refer to this woman as. I won’t repeat the word, because it is
unkind, off-base and scathingly, more than likely untrue.
In my expressing that, I told my daughters to never refer to
that person with that slang term. Tonight, I will address why at the dinner
table. The slang term that some use in our town referring to this woman, has a
stereo-typical, often racist implication. It’s aimed at Asian women in general.
As well, it appears it is aimed at this woman because she is Korean. The slang is not harmless. ---Jody-Lynn
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