Tag Archives: my youngest

Ever woner the worst question your child could ever ask you?

I found out tonight. I actually have never even pondered this. But when I heard it from my 6-year-old today, I knew, in my heart, this has got to be the worst question a child could ever ever ask of you, the parent.

Not “Am I going to die?”

Not “What happened to (insert: any family member that just passed away)?”

Not “Where do babies come from?”

Not “What is SEX?”

Not “Are you and daddy having a divorce?”

Not even “Did you and daddy plan to have me?”

Or “How do you use a condom?”

The worst question, if your child asked you the same, your heart would drop like an anvil all the way to your stomach (pardon me for the cliche but I never say I am a writer), and you would have the sick feeling in your stomach, and you would know, with no uncertainty, that somewhere, somehow, you must have screwed up big time. You would wish that you had not yelled at him, had not snapped at him, had not taken your frustration at your own situation (oh, foolish foolish immature girl’s dream that you would grow up to be somebody and not “just a mom”) out at him. You would wish that you were more patient, had more time to spare, were more like “other kids’ moms”, were more content. You would wish that you were happy enough just being, well, you.

My child asked me, quietly, tonight,

Mom, do you hate me?

Towards the discussion of race with a 6 year-old…

Every day is a trial and error in my effort to bring my kids up the “right” way…

Here is an incident happened last month which I have been chewing over and over:

My 6 year-old came home excited one day to tell me all about what he had learned at school about MLK, about Rosa Parks, about the civil rights movement, and about what it was like before for people of color. (Except, of course, he did not use the ultra PC term, “People of Color”…)

“Do you know that the white people had their own sinks, and they wouldn’t even let the colored people use them? And do you know that the white people get to sit in the front of the bus, and the colored people have to go sit in the back. And guess who gets to sit down if there are no seats left? The white people!”

On one hand, I was glad that he learned so much and seemed to be grasping the concept/idea. On the other hand, I winced every time he used the term “colored people”. I sat him down and gently asked him where he’d learned that term, he said from
a book he read at school. My guess was that the book describes the situations in the past, esp. in the South, and there were signs on which “Colored people only” and “Whites only” were shown. But as a Kindergartner, my son did not understand that the term is no longer in use. Political correctness is not factored into his choice of vocabulary yet.

Although he is probably too young to understand the concept of Political Correctness, I did try. I explained to him that we no longer use that term to refer to people with tanned skin, and that now we use the term “people of color”. For example, mommy is a woman of color. He looked at me, puzzled. I am not sure how much he understood.

I wrote the teacher a long letter and here is her response:

“We read the book last week. The book we read showed the signs for ‘Colored Only’ above water fountains and bathroom doors, as well as referring to those terms in the story. There was quite a discussion about unfair laws. We talked about everyone having color in their skin. People are not white or black – there are different tones of color. The phrase you used, ‘people of color’ was introduced. We also used, ‘African-Americans’ as a term as well.

I try to keep the concepts simple and easy to understand because the terms are so abstract. The main goal is to teach how we are all alike and all different as well as respect.”

By god this whole thing is complicated since NAACP has “Colored People” in its full name: National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. It is confusing sometimes even for adults, let alone Kindergartners.

I was caught off guard again when my boys heard on NPR the term “Black women”, when a lot of discussions happened around Michelle Obama’s role as the first Black First Lady, and what it means for Black women, and also, especially, young Black women that are just forming a sense of themselves. My 6 yo asked, “What do they mean by Black?” Probably the first time he heard the term so loud and clear, and it registered in his head that it means more than just a color but something else.

So we started a discussion on “African American” = “Black”, but you want to be careful when you use the term Black because you need to use it appropriately otherwise people may be offended or hurt. And the most appropriate term is probably “African American”.

“Why do they call themselves Blacks? Their skin is not black, just tanned. Like your skin is tanned, just different. But Auntie R’s dad (who is Asian Indian) is not Black even though he has dark skin too?”

(I mused, inside my head, about the usage of the term “Blacks” to refer to any non-white people, including the large population of Asian Indians and their UK-born descendants in the U.K. That would have made my duty as a parent a lot easier! But I refrained myself… Maybe some other time…)

From there, we got into a discussion on why President Obama is African American and NOT African even though his father was from Kenya. And the conversation quickly turned (or deteriorated) into who is American and who is not… And the question inevitably came up: “So Samantha next door is Korean and not American?” “No, no, no! She is American just like you guys. It is just that her grandparents came from Korea and that they still honor some Korean customs and traditions… If you want to label her, she would be Korean American. But you know, it does not matter what kind of American you are, and you shouldn’t label people anyway. It does not matter: you are all Americans!”

So, yeah, I was mentally kicking myself for singing to the tune of “We are the World”… and secretly praying, “Gosh. Please please don’t ask me what being an American mean… Not on this car ride… I need to write a thesis just to answer that question!”

Abraham Lincoln rocked this house last night!

In commemoration of Lincoln’s Bicentennial on February 12, PBS is showing a series of documentaries on Lincoln, both his life and death. Last night, PBS aired the extremely well-made documentary on Lincoln’ death, The Assassination of Abraham Lincoln”.

Ok, who has heard of a 6-year-old crying because he had to stop watching a documentary to take a bath? Mine did! He cried through the whole bath to the point of hyperventilating, and only stopped crying when he was led in front of the TV to finish watching the documentary. It must be because of all the things on Lincoln he has been learning at school this month… I wonder how much he was able to understand?

This is the same kid who exclaimed, “Abraham is so lucky! He was born on President’s Day!”

It was enlightening to learn that John Wilkes Booth asked for newspaper to be delivered to his hiding place (some pine bushes) so he could read about the public reactions to Lincoln’s assassination; he was surprised and saddened by the fact that he was perceived as this monstrous murderer and not as a savior who carried out God’s will to save the nation from self-destruction. He kept a meticulous journal while in hiding detailing his reasoning and conviction for doing what he had done, hoping that the future generation would see the light and agree with him.

In addition to “The Assassination”, there will be a series of shows dedicated to Lincoln this week. The most notable one, in my view, is the 2-part series by Henry Louis Gates “Looking for Lincoln“. Gates is an outstanding historian dedicated to African American histories. There have been considerable attempts to re-evaluate Lincoln as a pragmatic politician, as a man of his time (harboring the necessary biases and, frankly, racism). And in Gates’ own words, “My urge to judge Lincoln outside of his times is a strong one.” Of course, none of these theories or “re-reading” are taught at the grade school level.

My kids would probably never hear, from their teachers, what Frederick Douglass said about Lincoln at the dedication of the Freedman’s monument in Washington D.C. in 1876:

“He was preeminently the white man’s President, entirely devoted to the welfare of white men. He was ready and willing at any time during the first years of his administration to deny, postpone, and sacrifice the rights of humanity in the colored people to promote the welfare of the white people of this country. In all his education and feeling he was an American of the Americans. He came into the Presidential chair upon one principle alone, namely, opposition to the extension of slavery. His arguments in furtherance of this policy had their motive and mainspring in his patriotic devotion to the interests of his own race. To protect, defend, and perpetuate slavery in the states where it existed Abraham Lincoln was not less ready than any other President to draw the sword of the nation. He was ready to execute all the supposed guarantees of the United States Constitution in favor of the slave system anywhere inside the slave states. He was willing to pursue, recapture, and send back the fugitive slave to his master, and to suppress a slave rising for liberty, though his guilty master were already in arms against the Government. The race to which we belong were not the special objects of his consideration.”

Like many prominent historical figures existed outside of the school textbooks, Abe Lincoln was a complicated individual, shaped by his times and circumstances, worked with whatever conditions he was thrown in. Frederick Douglass recognized this because he continued to say:

“I have said that President Lincoln was a white man, and shared the prejudices common to his countrymen towards the colored race. Looking back to his times and to the condition of his country, we are compelled to admit that this unfriendly feeling on his part may be safely set down as one element of his wonderful success in organizing the loyal American people for the tremendous conflict before them, and bringing them safely through that conflict. His great mission was to accomplish two things: first, to save his country from dismemberment and ruin; and, second, to free his country from the great crime of slavery. To do one or the other, or both, he must have the earnest sympathy and the powerful cooperation of his loyal fellow-countrymen. Without this primary and essential condition to success his efforts must have been vain and utterly fruitless. Had he put the abolition of slavery before the salvation of the Union, he would have inevitably driven from him a powerful class of the American people and rendered resistance to rebellion impossible. Viewed from the genuine abolition ground, Mr. Lincoln seemed tardy, cold, dull, and indifferent; but measuring him by the sentiment of his country, a sentiment he was bound as a statesman to consult, he was swift, zealous, radical, and determined.”

To be able to explain the complexities of who Lincoln was (and is), I will need to be able to explain to my kids the complexities of race. The school curricular seem to concentrate on teaching our kids that everybody is the same yet different at the same time, that in the end, it does not matter what the color of your skin is. By singing to the tune of “We are the World” (I am dating myself by bringing up this song…), the real issues of race and ethnicity and the reality of remaining racism are then glossed over.

Once again I asked myself: how much of the ugliness should I teach them and at what age? And yes, I am fully aware of their privileged position to even have such a choice about “when to learn about race and racism”…

p.s. The Freedman’s Monument is not without controversy itself. Many in the African American community are infuriated, and perplexed to say the least. You can see why from the picture of the statue itself…

“You are not going to heaven because you are a bad mommy.” Religion? Yikes!

This was not said in a huff or a tantrum. This was said matter-of-factly, more an observation than an accusation. A conclusion drawn by my 6-year-old because, well, he has noticed that we do not go to church on a regular basis. We are not particularly religious although both of our boys were baptized in the Catholic church. We are obviously not regular church-going folks. I am not even Christian. We simply do not talk about god at home. I wonder where he got all these ideas about god, Jesus, and heaven.

The other day he asked me whether I am one of God’s children, and I told him, no, out of honesty. Later I explained to him that not everybody believes in god, and heaven, and not everybody believes in the same god as he does. and therefore not everybody is going to heaven. In fact, “You and daddy and your brother are going to heaven when you die, but mommy will not be there… Mommy believes in reincarnation.”

(Maybe I should have lied? This would have been one of those times when a white lie is harmless and maybe even beneficial?)

Fortunately, at this age, they do have the attention span of the fly, so he was quickly distracted by some other mysteries in life. Crisis diverted. For now.

Note to self: research books on “How to talk to your kids about religion if yours is a multi-faith family”… Yikes! Who says parenting gets easier as they get older?!

“I wish Mary Poppins is my mom…”

The other day when my 6-year-old was very frustrated with me for saying NO to most of his requests, he sighed and said with longing, “I wish Mary Poppings is my mom.”
Startled but not offended, laughingly I said, “Yeah, I wish she were your mom too.”
He in turn was shocked by my non-reactive reaction.
Then today, after pointing out to me that I didn’t feed him a “proper” dinner (Note to self: Bagel with cream cheese does not count as a “proper dinner”), he said, in mock-earnestness, “I am going to ask Santa for a better mom.”  “Oh, I am just kidding.”
Ah, a great sense of humor is the sure sign of intelligence, I always say.
Being self-reflective to a compulsive degree, I often picture my kids sitting in a shrink’s office, discussing their childhood with their unstable mother and her effect on their great novels of the decade.  Perhaps all the tribulations in our repressingly liberal suburban household will become cannon fodder for their artistic endeavors one day.  One can only hope.
Coda: Turned out that hot dog on a piece of white bread (since I don’t buy buns because they always go bad before we can finish them) is an acceptable entree for dinner.  Thank goodness.
p.s. I am well aware of this:
self-reflection + lack of action to correct any un-motherly behavior = rampant self-indulgence in the guise of mock self-pity

“Is it difficult to take care of kids?”

My 6-year-old boy asked me this question last night when I was putting him to sleep.  (Actually, I still need to sleep with him every night to get him to fall asleep which has been a subject of heated argument sometimes between me and my DH…  I guess I do tend to take the easier way out.  Sorry, Robert Frost, “The Road Not Taken” is simply not for the time-crunched…)

My boy asked, “Mommy, can I ask you a question?  Is it really hard to take care of kids?”

Startled by the innocent yet loaded question, I employed the age-old trick, “What do you think?”  He thought about it and then said, “It must be hard.  But why?” So I tried to explain to him that unlike complicated machines that we have, babies do not come with instruction manuals, and each one is so different, and they behave differently on a day to day basis, so it is very difficult to know what the right things to do are.

I am such a lame parent…

Of course, now I wonder whether I have complained verbally out loud and he has heard me complaining about raising kids.  The natural extension of the complaint is, for a straight-forward thinker not privy to the complexities of parenthood, “I wish I didn’t have kids”. I hope he did not draw that conclusion on his own.

But I do have a confession to make: sometimes I do wish that I have kids that are more easy-going… which is, probably every other kid that is not mine that I have seen.

I feel empathy for the mom in the Fudge series!

I’ve read the series of books by Judy Blume a long time ago. We recently picked up a copy of Double Fudge from a garage sale and I started reading it to my youngest this weekend, one chapter at a time. The more we read, the more it became surreal to me: Peter and Fudge are almost like my two boys!

I wonder now whether many many moms feel the same way out there. If that’s the case, then Wunderbar! That means I am not alone in this!

I couldn’t really tell what my 5 year-old was thinking when he was listening to the antics by another 5 year-old narrated by the older brother. Was he thinking, “Oh, that tantrum at the shoestore bit sounds really cool. Maybe I should try it next time… [Key internal evil laughter: Bwahahahah...]” Hopefully he was thinking, “Oh, what a disgrace to all 5 year-olds around the world! I certainly would not behave this way even if given the chance! [Key more internal evil laughter: Bwahahahah… you wish!]”

How do you explain WAR to a 5 year old?

About 2 weeks ago, my youngest asked me, “Mommy, is there a war now?” I was startled by this question, but quickly steadied myself and said, “yes, honey, unfortunately, there are wars all around the world.” “No, I mean, is there one that we are in?” Pause. “Yes, honey, unfortunately, there is at least one, in this country called Iraq.”

“Why?”

Ummm, some people believed that there were people there that wanted to do bad things to us, to the United States… You see, there was this ruler in Iraq, his name was Saddam Hussein…”

“What is a ruler?”

umm, he’s like a leader.”

“Oh, like a president?”

“No, not really. More like a tyrant… He has killed a lot of his people in the country, and we decided that he shouldn’t be the ruler any more… He was captured and executed…”

(And thank goodness he didn’t ask me what “executed” mean…)

So as I tried to explain to my youngest, I got more and more unsure about this whole concept.

“So the ruler is not there any more?”

“Right.”

“So when are we going to stop the war?”

“Well, honey, it is not as simple as it seems… We have to stay because now the country is not stable because a lot of people are fighting against each other… And yeah, we all hope that our soldiers can come home soon…

Hey, do you want to go get some ice cream?”

I swear I didn’t make this conversation up and pass it along as a fable or something. This is one of those conversations that, while you child soon forgot about it, keeps you up at night…

The trend continues: the hat stays. And I am inspired!

And it is not just a hat, nor is it a cowboy hat. It is a FEDORA.

My 5 yo got a wool fedora for his upcoming 6th birthday. He has been wearing that hat ever since. People would comment on how cute he is, esp. when he tips his hat slightly, and say, “How’d you do, Ma’am?”

This disturbs my 10-year-old who at this young age, unfortunately, has known first hand how ruthless schoolyard (or rather, bus stop) teasing can be. He has also learned that you really do not want to stand out, “blending in” is the smartest thing to do. (At 10?? What happened to my ham?? And I thought conformity is looked down in the USA! Seriously, the American culture and mentality sometimes is a mythical paradox to me…) So he tried to tell his younger brother that people might think he’s different and would make fun of him for it.

Here comes my diatribe of the day:

Ok, let me ask again: When does being different become a negative in this great country of ours?

(Ok, never mind. This is a rhetoric question… more or less).

But what happened to creativity and imagination? So it is ok if it happens in the movies, on paper, on the stage, in the office (i.e. “Think outside the box”), but not encouraged in the suburbs?

Standard response from my youngest? “I don’t care!” and “I think I look very handsome in this!”

Bravo to him for being so gutsy! Mama is very proud for his courage to be different.

But at the same time, I cannot help but wonder how long this unbridled unabashedness will last. They all grow up so fast, and part of growing up seems to mean losing part of yourself as you get older… Should I feel guilty also for letting him be himself? For indulging him even since I was the one who bought the fedora, naturally. And I am sure my kids could sense since a young age how abhorrent I am of “mediocrity”.

I actually told my kids that the greatest wisdom I hope to ever teach them is “Be thyself.”

I must be nuts…

My youngest’s got a fedora and a cane…

Son: Hey, do you know the name of my cane?

Us: No. What?

Son: John McCain!

(Confession: he was, for the longest time, pro-McCain. There, I said it. He actually cried over this several times pre-election day. His mind was set on McCain because he saw a lot of the commercials by the GOP camp during the 2008 PEK Olympics, and they all said, “My name is John McCain, and I approve this ad!” My son thought it was hilarious, and also McCain looks like a nice grandpa, and who does not like Grandpa??

He begged us so many times to vote for John McCain because, “He would cry if he loses! and I am going to cry too!”

I am happy to report that we did eventually win him over, and he watched the rally at Grand Park on TV with us, excitedly…)