This is the second part of a rare Double Feature, in celebration of Mother’s Day.
No, my dear readers, Chef Ping’s was sadly not on my itinerary… Not that I haven’t tried though. I decided at around 4 pm that yes, we are going to go to Chef Ping’s because It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to. We didn’t manage to get out the door until 5 pm because my kids kept on saying, “Ok. Mom. Ok. Just until I finish this episode, this game, this chat…”
We drove to Chef Ping’s, not without a passionate discussion on WHY. The wait was to be 30 minutes.
My dear readers, I lied in my previous post when I said “No expectations. No disappointment.” Apparently though I had no expectations for my children to behave differently from any other day, I did expect to be able to go to my favorite Chinese restaurant at 5 pm on a Sunday! I was devastated.
I forgot that today is Mother’s Day aka The Bane of My Existence.
Choking back tears that surprised even myself, I resigned, “Let’s just go home. I will make you guys food, and I will have ramen noodles.”
“Mom. Let’s just go to some other restaurant! Because now you are just guilt tripping us!” My 12-year-old said with keen perception.
I kept an eerie silence as I drove aimlessly home. But not before I yelled at the boys for the 258th time to please shut their mouths if they could not stop bickering. The passive aggression was so thick inside the car I could practically lick it.
But I did still need to feed them. Taco Bell! A 90-degree emergency left turn brought me to the drive-through window.
“Do you want any sauce with that?”
“Yes. Medium and mild please.”
“Ok. Mild and Hot. Here you go. Happy Mother’s Day!”
“Wow. That lady’s hearing was not very good.” My 12-year-old made another keen observation.
” *sigh* I am too tired to correct her. Sometimes I am so tired of living here.”
“Do you prefer to live in Taiwan?”
“To be honest with you, I don’t know what it is like to live in Taiwan. I have never had ‘lived’ in Taiwan for real… I don’t know. I was going to school, living with my parents, then I came here. I don’t think I know what it is like to live in Taiwan… It is confusing. I don’t know.”
“Yeah. It is confusing alright… Do you remember when you were a kid?”
“Yes. I do of course.”
“I don’t want to grow up.” My 12-year-old concluded after a pause.
“I hear you, honey.” Strike one, mom. Way to motivate your child!
“Being a grown-up sucks!” Interjected my 7-year-old.
“Being a grown-up is 99% of your life!” His older brother admonished him.
“Mom. Doesn’t being a grown-up suck?” My 7-year-old continued.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. I think the sucky part of being a grown-up is mainly associated with being a parent…” Strike two. Good job, mom.
“HEY! Your life is going to be so boring and miserable if you didn’t have us!” My 12-year-old protested.
“Ha ha. You are right honey.”
“Have you ever wished that you didn’t have children?” My youngest pursued.
Beat.
Beat.
Beat.
I could not bring myself to answer this question. Strike three, mom. Let’s hope they turn out to be writers so they can use this episode in a positive way.
“I am sure she did when we really really pissed her off!”
So here I am. Making three different kinds of ramen noodles. But not before we went to Blockbuster, my youngest had a meltdown because he absolutely had to watch The Karate Kid III TODAY and his brother absolutely did NOT want to watch it, and my oldest and I had a passionate discussion on why we couldn’t rent Ninja Assassin…
Sure I can take a rest today. Sure I can go out and have fun and enjoy myself. (Well, I actually can’t since my husband left for Canada this morning… So I am single-parenting for the next ten days…) But really, if things are not taken care of at home TODAY, I know I have to do it TOMORROW.
I am having a hard time with this post: I cannot decide which WTF moment to lead with. Too many blazing instances of human stupidity, greed and bigotry circulating the Interweb and I am at a loss. But forge on I must since if I don’t write a WTF Wednesday post this week, it would be like Tiger Woods missing the opportunity to play his 18 holes after being appointed the chaperon for the Miss America Pageant.
WTF Moment #0: BP Oil Spill. ‘Nuff said.
WTF Moment #1: BP’s liability is, as of now, limited to $75 million due to a law passed 20 years ago.
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httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kk4n0SvG0-Y
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WTF Moment #2: BP made $5 billion in profits in the last quarter. That’s PROFITS, peeps, not REVENUE. And it is last QUARTER, not last YEAR.
WTF Moment #3: BP CEO said they will take responsibility for the RESPONSE but NOT the Accident. Since the drilling platform was outsourced to another, much smaller company, BP is, as implied by Tony Hayward, not at fault. In the same vein, DOD is not responsible for what happened in Iraq since much of that has been outsourced to Blackwater, and I am not responsible for my children since much of their education has been outsourced to the public school education system.
WTF Moment #4: Soon after the explosion and the resulting spill, BP reps went around coastal communities, offering residents, including fishermen whose livelihood depends sorely on the ocean, Wait for it! A whopping $5000 if they agreed to not sue. Please see #2.
WTF Moment #5: Is it just me? Was anybody else disgusted by BP’s move to create an environmental friendly, greener, image with their new green sunburst logo? They spent millions of dollars on that rebranding campaign. It would be tragically ironical if they end up paying LESS in liability for the largest environmental disaster to ever happen to this country than what they have paid in that marketing campaign.
Earth to Rush: Hey! This is Glenn Beck. I don’t believe that Obama blew up the oil rig!
WTF Moment #7: If you are shocked by #6, you are going to love this… According to Rush, “The ocean will take care of this on its own if it was left alone and was left out there.” And, there’s more!
“It’s natural. It’s as natural as the ocean water is.”
My favorite comeback came from Keith Olbermann: “You know what else is natural, according to Rush? Hemorrhoids.” GOLD!
WTF Moment #8: (This is personal whining…) We have planned a mini vacation to St. Pete Beach, Florida, this week specifically just so we could revisit Fort De Soto Park, one of the best beaches, and most under-hyped, in the US. It’s not just me saying it, it was selected as America’s Best Beach in 2005 by Dr. Beach. From what I have read so far, there is a chance that these beaches will luck out and escape the tragic fate of being affected by the oil spill. At least for now. But some scientists are not as optimistic and have predicted a not-so-sunny future for the Florida coasts, and ergo, economy. Upon learning this, I am becoming grateful that, by coincidence, this may be the last time we have a chance to see the beaches in their pristine, gorgeous state before the looming disaster hits.
WTF Moment #9: Another disaster was not receiving the deserved attention due to the oil spill and other shenanigans (that will be reported later in this post): the flooding in Tennessee and Kentucky which has reportedly claimed 29 lives and put more than 1,000 people in emergency shelters.
WTF Moment #10: The bomb used in the Time Square Bomb Scare was made with no more than items found in random hardware stores or beauty supply shops based on instructions found easily on the Internet. New York Times published a lengthy article describing the contraption, complete with a shopping list for any wannabe copycat out there. But of course, nobody in this country would be crazy enough to want to copy this. So we are good.
WTF Moment #11: The Time Square Bomber “suspect” Faisal Shahzad had been put on the “Do Not Fly” list but still managed to board the Emirates flight. Authorities are blaming Emirates Airlines for working with an outdated Do-Not-Fly list.
WTF Moment #12: Arizona. Where should I begin? Ugh.
On April 23, 2010, Arizona Governor Jan Brewer signed a bill that enacted the toughest and most stringent immigration law this country has ever seen in modern days. You know, after the Immigration Act of 1924 which included the National Origins Act and Asian Exclusion Act and most of what’s covered in the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1952 were abolished by the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965. So yeah, we effectively walked backwards 45 years…
This law would make it a crime for immigrants to fail to carry immigration documents on them and give the police the authority to detain anyone they suspect to be in the country illegally.
Note to Self: When in Arizona, remember to NOT dressed like an FOB. And of course, to remember to carry my U.S. passport with me at all times.
WTF Moment #13: Arizona. I cannot even make this shit up. According to The Wall Street Journal, “The Arizona Department of Education recently began telling school districts that teachers whose spoken English it deems to be heavily accented or ungrammatical must be removed from classes for students still learning English.”
Ok. I agree that teachers without a command of correct grammars should not be teaching English. But how many people you know that are native English speakers ignore grammars when they speak? How often do you see native English speakers with higher education commit the “sudden death” (imo) mistake of using IT’S when they meant ITS?
And how about those accents sported by other native “English” speakers from the other parts of the world? The Irish. The Scottish. The Australian. Hack, I have a hard time understanding the British accent.
Here’s my proposal: Anybody that does not speak AMERICAN should not be allowed to teach in our schools. Period.
Oh. You say you don’t know how to define “the American accent”? You say you cannot understand the Bayou accent even though it is technically VERY AMERICAN?
Well. Fuck me.
I wish Arizona have simply come clean from the beginning and said what they have had on their mind all along, “Whose spoken English it deems to be heavily accented or ungrammatical and WHO HAPPENED TO BE BROWN.”
You know what? I am pretty darn sure they have no problem with Elin nee Nordegren Woods’ accent even if she sounded like the Swedish Chef.
WTF Moment #14: Arizone. Again. Triple win. Seriously. Give the other states a chance. South Carolina called. They are not too happy with the spotlight you have been getting lately. They want their hard-earned “Worst State” title awarded by Jon Stewart back!
Have you read the Classic English Literature Canon used in English 101? Leaf through it and let me know when you come across an author whose works have been included in Classic Lit that is was (well, according to the DEAD White male rule, they are all dead so the past tense is a given) NOT white. Go on. I’ll wait.
Oh. What? You cannot find any. So one could argue that Classic English Lit canon can be construed as “designed primarily for students of a particular ethnic group”?
I guess I shouldn’t have behaved like an ungrateful immigrant. We really should be grateful that within the proposed bill, the teaching of the Holocaust or other cases of genocide will still be allowed. Oh my god. This is huge. Thank you so much! Until some closeted Holocaust denier becomes the next superintendent, that is. So teach them while you still can, teachers!
I suspect that some of you are tired of me criticizing myself for not being a good mother. Self-deprecating humor can only go this far when you are not a stand-up comedian. I admit that it does sound like I am fishing for compliments. Or at least, some sort of desperate reach for affirmation. If these were true, or at least intentional, I would not have even brought this up to the light of day. It is easy to keep a perfect facade on the Internet; I could have simply NOT talked about my fear and insecurities.
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"I feel happy when my mom is in a good mood" Oh boy...
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Is it just me? On some days, I get so aggravated by blog posts where the parents seem so perfect: patient, wise, kind, steadfast, consistent, and… Now where is my fucking thesaurus?!… always in a good mood, with “a cheery disposition…. never be cross or cruel”, never raising their voices… Who took my BLEEP thesaurus and didn’t put it away?!
Mr. Monk once told me in amidst of sobs, after a shouting match, “I want Mary Poppins to be my mom!”
*sigh* We all do. Baby. We all do.
“Why can’t you be like the other moms?” He has said that more than once.
The other day he joked, “You don’t have enough patience and you should go buy more patience in the Patience Store!”
I hope this post helps some of you that are reading because like me, you have feared that somehow you have traumatized your child because you are not patient enough and you do raise your voice, nay, you actually do YELL. Unlike “the other” mothers…
7 Year Old: No, I mean, which part does the baby chick come from?
Me: Ok, honey, the eggs you are eating? These are not the kind that baby chicks come from.
7 Year Old: Why?
Me: These are eggs that have not been… (Oh fuck!) Sigh. Ok. You know how in order to make a baby? … You need a mommy and a daddy together to make a baby? Well, the eggs you are eating only came from the mommy hen. There is no daddy involved.
7 Year Old: How come there are single mommies with children?
Me: *Inserting foot in mouth* There are daddies. It’s just that the daddy for some reason is not living with them any more…
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Hind sight is 20-20. Why did I go into unnecessary details? I was all of a sudden caught in a panic that he might decide to not eat eggs due to the baby chick situation, he who only eats 5 kinds of food. I needed to reassure him that he’s not endangering any baby chics by eating eggs. I could not run the risk of eggs being off the menu.
My parents watch a lot of TV. They are at a stage where they deserve to do whatever they feel like, really, and my dad’s health does not allow him to stray away too much or too often from stationary activities. That being said, there are three televisions inside the 800-sq-ft. 3- BR apartment, so yeah, they watch a lot of TV. I have realized after having left home for the U.S. in 1993 that the most precious yet the most difficult gift I can give my parents is simply being there. As a result, I end up watching a lot of TV when I keep them company.
It is always a quick and dirty way for me to get reacquainted with the here and now in Taiwan. The social mores in vogue. I am often reminded to be proud of where I came from, followed by a sudden wave of homesickness and dread while I am… at home… because of my imminent departure. On the other hand, I am also quite frequently flabbergasted, especially by the commercials. Since “a cultural critic / modern tribe ethnographer” was one of my answers to “What do you want to be when you grow up?”), I cannot help but have a running commentary scrolling through my mind’s eye, my mental news ticker. To be unabashedly confessional, I am fascinated and excited by the contradictions, the dichotomy, the ambiguities represented in the media messages now that I have had a chance to step outside, looking in.
Sometimes a virtual lower third is the only image superimposed on what I am seeing…
WTF MOMENT: I CAN TOTALLY WRITE A DISSERTATION ON THIS.
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(The first line of caption in the video says, “The 42nd day after breakup…”
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httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UFHk6nARDcM
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p.s. This post is being written as I watch TV with my father which we have been doing for about 2 hours now…
p.p.s. The first time we saw this commercial, my father said, “@#%%$. We are a bunch of crazy people.”
p.p.p.s. Yes, this commercial is being aired at all hours, not just “after hours” which do not exist here anyway.
Now that healthcare reform bill has been signed into law, and we are NOT holding our breath to see when changes can really be carried out, probably years, and by then, I’d probably be dead from holding my breath especially since I can in all honesty hold my breath for only 10 seconds under normal circumstances… It’s amazing I know for someone with such a loud mouth and loud voice, my lung capacity is pathetically puny… what with the lawsuits filed by several states, the continual protests from the GOP and the Tea Don’t-Call-Me-Baggers Party members, something else on the horizon for the Republicans to wage a new battle:
The proposed VAT.
Actually, it was not even proposed in the congress. People started ASKING QUESTIONS about VAT because economist, former Federal Reserve Chairman, current White House advisor, Paul Volcker on April 6 answered a question at a New York Historical Society event, saying that VAT is not as toxic an idea as people may think. Oh, he also said, “If at the end of the day we need to raise taxes, we should raise taxes.”
Ooops. They (The Dems) did it again! Sound the alarm!
I have been trying to read upon various opinion pieces to draw my own conclusion. But the fact is: NOBODY has officially proposed it yet except John McCain, the Maverick. He alone proposed an anti-VAT amendment preemptively. Like anybody else I would like to be able to keep as much of my hard-earned money as possible. I was surprised therefore by my annoyance when I received an email from my Congressman, taking a survey, with a simple question: “Should Congress impose a new VAT tax?”
With NO information whatsoever on the background and origin of the recent brouhaha over VAT.
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Most likely I simply needed a good dose of rage to distract me from life itself. Nothing, NOTHING, gives a good slap to wake me up from my self-pitying stupor like a good invitation for raging psychotic foaming. I immediately saw this email, perhaps wrongly, as an incendiary, biased missive disguised as an innocent, neutral survey. A fear monger. So I fired off this email, perhaps a bit pigheadedly. It felt good, I have to admit. I don’t really care that he will not read it.
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Dear Congressman Kirk,
I feel the email survey on the proposed VAT you have sent out via email is misleading, if not disingenuous. When you send out an email with a brief question “The Congress decided to add more tax. Do you think they should levy more tax?” I am going to take a wild guess that most of the respondents will say “H to the ELL NO WAY!” I am going to take another wild guess that you and your staff will then show the survey results, perhaps even call a news conference, with the “stunning” result of the majority surveyed having chosen “NO”.
If a doctor goes to a patient and says, “Would you like to have toxic chemicals injected into your body, with the potential risk of killing the cells in your bone marrow, losing all your hair, and in general feeling weak and like cr*p all the time?” I am going to take a wild guess that the patient is going to say, “NO.” But if the doctor provides the patient with the facts and the reasons behind his/her recommendation, the patient will be empowered to make an informed decision.
Yes. You can argue that people who want more information can always go online. After all, google is just one click away. But let’s be honest with ourselves: The topic of TAXES has always been extremely personal to people especially those who are blessed enough to be in the high-income bracket, and lately it has been turned into an emotional subject as well. in your wildest guess, what will be the % of the people who after receiving this email wondered about the facts behind the VAT proposal instead of getting some gut / visceral reactions to the short question you posted?
Frankly I am disappointed. For the very least you could have included a link in your email to a fact-based, neutral information page. Granted very low % of the recipients are expected to bother to click on that link, but to those who care to learn more and to make their decisions based on facts and not based on a base human desire for self-preservation and an all-too-human “They can eat cake” mentality, such a skin-deep effort on your part would have helped prevent this bad taste in my mouth I am experiencing.
Sincerely,
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I only bring up my degree when I write complain letters...
I went to my first funeral that I could/would remember this past Saturday. If I think about it, I should find myself fortunate enough to be able to say that.
Three of my four grandparents passed away before I was born. When my grandfather passed away, I was discouraged from partaking in the funeral rituals because in general we don’t like children “mixed up” in these events, and possibly also because my birth dates was in conflict with some auspicious numbers.
The funeral was for someone that technically is not related to me, if your view of family is based on the Western, nuclear family. But to me, in my Chinese view of the world, the six degree of separation is close enough that I felt obliged to attend, especially since the funeral was in a town less than an hour away. L was only four years older than I am.
It’s not that we were particularly close. I have only saw her twice, even though I do see her families during the holidays when I visit my in-laws. What compelled me, what gave me this (perhaps misguided) sense of urgency to be there, was the thought of her father having to be there, at his daughter’s funeral. That’s one of the worst things that I could think of to happen to anybody. For what it’s worth, I felt I needed to be there for the elders.
Because I have never been to a funeral in the U.S., I was surprised by how much laughter there was. And it didn’t seem wrong to laugh at all. With L lying there, and her friends talking about how passionate she was, and how “Yeah, try and get in a word when she was on a roll” she could be, it felt simply wonderful to laugh, to remember the happiness she has brought them.
Because of my recent loss, I probably over-projected a bit. I ended up crying too much, disproportionate one might think to my relationship to L. She has lived in Chicago by herself away from her families all her adult life. So I was crying for her, for her father, for her families, for myself, and for my aunt.
When I hugged her father who was still obviously in shock, he felt so fragile. I was afraid that if I hugged him too tight I might break him. All I did was cry.
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The Dash
L’s best friend read a poem to her, and for us,
The Dash by Linda Ellis
I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend.
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning to the end.
He noted that first came the date of her birth
And spoke of the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years.
For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.
For it matters not, how much we own,
The cars, the house, the cash,
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.
So think about this long and hard;
Are there things you’d like to change?
For you never know how much time is left
That can still be rearranged.
If we could just slow down enough
To consider what’s true and real
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.
And be less quick to anger
And show appreciation more
And love the people in our lives
Like we’ve never loved before.
If we treat each other with respect
And more often wear a smile,
Remembering that this special dash
Might only last a little while.
So when your eulogy is being read
With your life’s actions to rehash
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent your dash?
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Culture Shock
Although I was worried that my inability to stop crying might have caused more crying than there would have been, in the end, I am happy that I went. How could I have stayed away? In the Chinese sense, my in-law’s in-laws ARE my families. Others may not understand this, but I’d have felt guilty if I didn’t even make the effort.
Lately the stark difference between what Chinese and “The Polite White Society” (for a lack of a better descriptive term) consider to be family, and how far one would go for families, is getting on my nerves. This has been so far the biggest chasm between Chinese culture and “White” culture I have experienced. In comparison, all the other differences are merely skin deep. So after being in this country for 17 years, I sense I am going through my first wave of culture shock.
What can I say? I have always been a late bloomer.
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Foreign
I am flying home for the funeral of my aunt. I am anxious because it is important to me that I make it this time. My final chance to say goodbye, in my mind.
I know funerals are elaborate affairs back home. The older generation loves telling us: “There are three important occasions in life that need to be properly commemorated: Birth. Marriage. Death.”
A proper funeral and the series of ceremonies leading to the funeral affect not only the deceased’s ability to pass over to the other side in peace but also the chances of the descendants to prosper. Nobody wants to run the risk of committing any error. In order to remind myself what funerals are like in Taiwan, I googled it. Yup, I am a loser. I googled about my “own” culture on google. Leave me alone.
ELABORATE is probably a euphemism. I’ll simply put it this way.
Discussions with my parents about my aunt’s funeral and all the rituals and ceremonies and rules and restrictions and the right dates and times and the prayers and the head pieces and the special dresses and the “who is supposed to stand where and when” and the expectations for ostentatious mourning and the kneeling and the crawling and the “because you are only a daughter and not a daughter-in-law you don’t need to wear 100% black” rules and the reassurance “People will not mind because you have been away for so long” in case I do something wrong, I realized, I am foreign.
Child: It is very annoying to me because my mom is being spoiled and wasting time instead of doing something useful like reading a book.
Mom: Why do you think it’s a waste of time?
Child: Because it is like a computer or Facebook and it is wasting time, not like doing something relaxing like eating lunch or doing work.
Mom: Do you think doing my work is relaxing to me?
Child: No. Because doing your work is something you have to do.
Mom: Do you not like my blogging because you feel I am not spending time with you?
Child: Yes. No. Maybe so.
Mom: What if I say this is my hobby and I really enjoy doing it?
Child: Life’s not fair. Deal with it.
Mom: That’s all?
Child: That’s all. I wanted it to end in a funny way.
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"Oh My Blog!" is the new OMG!
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This post is brought to you by Just Humor Me who shared her new OMB! Award with me. Thank you, Diane! There are rules associated with this award:
A. doing a video blog (vlogging)
B. writing a blog post while in a state of intoxication (drogging) or
C. blogging about your most embarrassing moment (embarraslogging)
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Originally I had this evil scheme of making begging Mr. Monk, my 7-year-old, to vlog for me since he’s been having a lot of fun with Flip video. I made the mistake of forgetting to use bribes not easing him into this idea, instead I ASKED HIM NICELY.
“No.” He said without even giving it another thought. “Here’s your pencil and paper. Go!”
“What?”
“Well, you want to interview me right? Ask me questions. I answer. You write them down. Don’t you know anything about interviewing people, MOM?!”
What did he mean? Writing stuff down longhand? I haven’t done that since, well, grad school!
“How about this? How about if I write your answers down on my blog?”
“What?” He sounded rather indignant, sensing entrapment. “You want to write about me on your blog. Again?”
At the end, the exhibitionist in him won the battle. In fact, I made the mistake of pushing forward with my REAL question:
“Do you not like my blogging because you feel I am not spending time with you?”
After he gave me the deliberately ambiguous answer which spelled out, to me, the real reason behind his discomfort with my new obsession “hobby”, he was rather upset.
“You ruined everything! I want ‘Life is not fair. Deal with it.’ to be my last line! Because I really want it to end in a funny way!!!”
So I manipulated the interview script to give him what he wanted.
“Good. Now can you print it out for me?” He couldn’t wait to show it off to his brother. “Look! These are my words!”
Later when we were getting ready for bed, he penned a poem calling his brother a Computer Geek and a Facebook Freak. Nice I know. But hey, we encourage artistic creativity in this household!
“Mom. I know what I want to be when I grow up. I want to be a writer!”
So… Who is a future blogger in the making?!…
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It is extremely hard to decide whom to pass on this award to since all of you are wonderful bloggers. This may be a tall order: Anybody up to give VLOGGING a try?
Vagina-blogging? I guess we have all (except the handful of male readers I have… I am a sexist now too, I guess…) been VLOGGING all this time.
I have learned in my parenting career that the fewer letters there are in a word, the more the potential of it being an extremely difficult concept to explain to your child. Some small words are deceptively simple. Small words with big, heavy baggages.
Mr. Monk used the word “gay” in the bad way the other day.
As soon as he said it, he knew he did something wrong. The air froze. The earth stood still. His brother sucked in his breath and for once, was speechless.
“It’s ok. Mommy’s not mad.” I reached for his hand and walked him upstairs to his room where I could talk to him quietly, without my 12-year-old chiming in whenever I took a breath as if he couldn’t wait to start parenting himself.
“I am sorry. I know I am not supposed to use this word, unless of course I am using it the right way.”
“What is the right way of using the word?”
“Being happy?”
I had to make a split decision at that moment to decide whether I should seize the opportunity to educate him or to prolong this “shielding”. I remembered this excerpt from NurtureShock:
How to raise racist kids?
Step One: Don’t talk about race. Don’t point out skin color. Be “color blind.”
Step Two: Actually, that’s it. There is no Step Two.
Congratulations! Your children are well on their way to believing that <insert your ethnicity here> is better than everybody else.
I decided to talk about what it means to be gay, to not make a big deal out of it, in the most basic manner, especially since we do see a lot of gay characters now on TV and in the movies, for which I am pleased.
We also just finished watching Modern Family in which a gay couple was portrayed just like any other suburban couple in a sitcom.
“You know there are people who are gay right?”
He nodded.
“Do you know what it means that they are gay?
“That they are happy?” Then he chuckled in a way that said he didn’t believe his answer and he was proud at his own wittiness.
“It means that… some people when they grow up, they realize that, well, … Ok. Instead for a man to have a girlfriend, he has a boyfriend.”
“Oh.”
“And there are women who instead of having boyfriends, you know, they are in love with their girlfriends.”
At this moment as I write, I realized that I didn’t use husbands and wives. Please allow me to explain my oversight as that because I was discusssing the matter of heart and love with him at that moment, I unconsciously used the term boyfriends and girlfriends because that’s what people get when they are in love. Boyfriends and girlfriends.
I crouched down and held onto his shoulders so I could look him in the eyes.
“Did you know that I have friends who are gay?”
He looked surprised.
“I have a friend, a boy, you know, a male friend, he is gay so he has a boyfriend.” I continued. “I also have a very good girlfriend and she and her girlfriend have been together for longer than 10 years!”
“Wow.” At this his eyes widened.
“Yup. I met saw them not too long ago. They look very happy together. Actually I think they get along much better than mommy and daddy. They don’t seem to fight a lot.”
A smile.
“It must be because they are girls!” A lightbulb lit up over his head.
Then he added, quieter now, while looking down at his own feet, “Or, because they don’t have kids?”
