on "v's" post on last days...

commentator: when we last left off, "v" posted a comment with a link to his last days of the republic (dated: 3/24/03, "a reflection") on heinrich's post about a stone & soil eating swedish boy with obvious iron deficiency problems. "r" decided to comment on "v's" posting, but realized her superfluous nature required more than the limitations of his comment... "program?" on his blog. here is what she started to post:

it makes me sad to think how your mom had such anxieties when traveling through the midwest. it makes me sad because i've always had the same complex, as well. when my family first moved out of L.A. to live in various places in the midwest: michigan, kansas, nebraska, i really began to learn... shit! i can't write this all here! i'll write it here.

commentator: we now return to the continuation of "r's" comment (or now, post).

here. it wasn't until i lived in small, rural midwestern towns as a kid that i was made to learn and develop my own notions of "difference." from being accused of being a chocolate milk producer by taunting white boys in elementary school (get it? 'cause i'm brown. unfortunately hershey's was running the ad campaign that chocolate milk came from "chocolate cows." har-de-fucking-har), to being called, "chink," "nigger," "spanish fly," (i used to wear big glasses), etc. from culturally-starved, ignorant white people who hardly, if ever, saw a person of color--i had to learn quickly that i wasn't like many of the people in those towns. when i was younger, it did make me a bit agoraphobic when going out to public places where my family and i could meet--what to me were--strange, white and possibly hostile white people in town. as i got older, i was able to create a better niche in these places we lived when my family and i were able to surround ourselves with friends we would make over the years.

even when living in the midwestern "sticks" or "hickvilles," we were able to create our own community of friends. when i think of it, my parents made an effort to seek out other "others." they sought out and made friends with other disparate immigrant families also stuck in hickville--filipinos, indians (goan indians, in fact), turkish immigrant families, etc.--people who understood what it was like to be "alien" to the so-called "american dream" of apple pie and cheez whiz. i think it was during these times that i started developing my own notions of the "american dream." after seeing how hostile and ignorant the average white joe in the midwest could be to people of color, i started to think of the "apple pie" and the "baseball games in the park" as solely symbols for white americana. for me, feeling "at home" meant going with my parents to the "oriental" food market or to a local mexican or chinese restaurant because i knew people of color were expected to be there.

during this time, i found it ironic how my immigrant mother would work long hours in a veteran's administration hospital taking care of former american soldiers who fought for a country that sadly, never welcomed any of its immigrants with welcome arms. i remember someone saying that sometimes you can liken all the minor slights and insults brought on by discrimination to little cuts all over the body--the accumulation of which could really make one bleed one big hurt. i felt this for many years growing up, and i will never forget.

even still, i learned a lot from my parents. i remember my dad coming home one day telling me that he met some white guy at some golf course who kept badgering him with questions like, "what are you? mexican? chinese? japanese?" to this, my dad replied, "i bet i can guess what you are in one shot... nosy." from my dad i learned the art of the smart and subtle comeback. from my mother, i learned about how to face things head on--with no mercy and with an irrepressible attitude. one time when i was with her at some mall, a man walking past us could do nothing more than gawk at what must have been such an oddity to him--my mother and i. i remember my mother staring straight back at him and yelling, "what do you think you're looking at, huh? what, you think we're from another planet? you better stop staring at me! what's the matter with you?!" the man must have snapped out of it because he immediately cut his gaze and nervously moved along.

why do i ramble on with these anecdotes? i guess, "v," because i hope your mom doesn't have to hide or feel skittish anywhere she chooses to go or be. somehow, my family made it for almost 10 years in the midwest before moving back to (thank GOD!) california. i don't think i'll ever live in the midwest again unless, of course, i hear through the national census that a flood of immigrants have created a slew of multicultural urban centers there. it's not because i'm scared of living once again in pockets of all-white middle america, but because even more so, i know how valuable and important it is to live in culturally diverse places. you learn more about human nature and the world when you're around people who are different from you. for your mother, maybe you can encourage her to try to observe and learn a little bit about white, middle america. she may learn something about "how the other half lives." then, she can go back to living in l.a. and thanking her stars that she lives in a place where "brown" is a fashion trend that's not going to ever go out in style.