It’s been a while since I wrote about biracial issues. It’s going to be a quiet ride until Twilli starts interacting with school age children. Most of what I’ve written has been about my own awakening and mostly 2nd hand accounts.

Maybe I’m blissfully ignorant of these issues. I prefer to think that the people we have encountered just might be open-minded enough to accept our child as she is without casting her in a freakshow role.

Last weekend, I spied a rummage sale at a nearby church. It happened to be the Korean Assembly of God church. I’m still very whitewashed and my religious beliefs are not in alignment with AOG, so I don’t give it much thought.

I didn’t like what I read about how hapas are treated in the Korean community. Now I have first-hand experience to report, and it is favorable.

As we approached the rummage sale, my guard was up. Religious outreach efforts by Koreans have been made toward me in the past by various groups, but the language barrier stopped them in their tracks.

I’d say it was an average reception. Not everyone is going to dote on a baby, no matter how cute she is. A few women lit up. One woman even remarked, “Asian genes are so strong!” Another lady was being assertive, trying to sell us a toy that was clearly outside of her age range. It was around noon, and you know what noontime means for rummage sales. Frugal tip here. Sometimes, you can score deals at the end of a garage sale. This is stuff people don’t want anymore.

Overall, I sensed no disdain for this mixed-race child. Maybe people have come around.

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The following is a guest post from Heather Weaver, a.k.a. “Geek Mom.”

Growing up “hapa” in the Midwestern United States in the 70s and 80s was not much different than growing up white, I think… I spent my youth in the macaroni and cheese, potato salad, extra-mild salsa part of the country. We ate Japanese food frequently, but I figured that was pretty normal.

As a half-Japanese girl who looked more Caucasian than Japanese, most people couldn’t really tell I was hapa, unless they knew my family, or happened to see my middle name, Midori.

I think that was a unique situation to be in. I didn’t really look any different, so I was perceived as white by strangers. Unlike my father, who is Japanese — and looks Japanese — people did not usually judge me by my ethnicity.

Although he does not talk about his experiences with discrimination much, I know that my dad has dealt with it throughout his life. As a young boy, he spent World War 2 in an internment camp with his family. His little brother, my uncle, was born in that camp in Arizona. It really wasn’t that long ago, if you think about it. My dad is only 67 years old.

My father’s experience is in stark contrast with my own. I have had the power of disclosing my ethnicity by choice, most of the time. It’s not that I’m ashamed of being hapa, or afraid of being recognized as such. I love my Japanese heritage! It’s just that since most people can’t tell, it’s usually up to me to decide who finds out, and when. Kind of like a superhero with a secret identity — I’m Hapa Girl!

• Able to make perfectly steamed white rice without a measuring cup!
• Able to speak English without a foreign accent!
• Able to use chopsticks without making a mess!

Okay, so that’s kind of silly. But when I stop and think about easy my life has been, compared to the way my father grew up, I feel so lucky to be hapa. It has really been a blessing of the “best of both worlds.” I’m not sure how to express it without sounding corny or trite. I’m truly happy to be hapa!

——–

I wanted to get a first-hand perspective from another hapa, so I called upon Heather (a.ka. Geek Mom) for some help. The only other hapa I know isn’t much of a computer user. However, she has managed to type, “34kldflkj4toicv dsf09u4 tljkvda” and things like that.

You can find more of Heather’s writing at her blogs, Geek Mom Mashup and Sugar and Sweets. As if she doesn’t have her hands full enough with 3 children, 2 blogs, a husband, and an internet addiction, she blogs at Posh Mama and finds a spare moment to make unique hand-made gifts.

Growing up as a Twinkie, I don’t have much Asian identity, except for my appearance. It sounds cliché, but I am stuck between two worlds. Maybe this is why I’m so annoyed at blanket judgments based on appearance. I don’t fit in to some neat little category. As soon as an unenlightened individual realizes I don’t work in IT or engineering and don’t know karate, they’re dumbfounded.

Then there’s the Asian community. Twinkies tend to be shunned by Asians holding on to their cultural identity. I still don’t have any Korean friends. I learned a little about Korean-American culture, and it’s just starting to coalesce due to my recent interest.

After some reflection, I realized that I’m more Korean than I used to admit:

• I love spicy food. Whenever I go to a Thai restaurant, I tell the waiter, “When I say ‘5-star spicy’ I mean it. I’m Korean.”
• I love garlic. While I’m cooking, I occasionally peel an extra clove to eat it whole.
• The other day, I dressed up some artichoke hearts with red pepper, garlic, sea salt, and olive oil. It looked like ban chan (side dishes).
• I root for the underdog with few exceptions.
• I used to smoke cigarettes.
• One of my goals is to be able to afford private school for my daughter.

However, the whitewashing is pretty complete. Inertia is tough to overcome.

• My wife is from Texas but I’m more redneck than she is.
• I wear my shoes inside the house all the time.
• My Swedish vocabulary has eclipsed my Korean vocabulary.
• I still have karaoke anxiety. It’s a favorite activity among Koreans.

Despite the advanced degree of “Twinkification” I’m coming back around a little. I’m frequenting Kimchi Mamas and Rice Daddies more these days. I was saddened when I heard that the Namdaemun (Great Southern Gate) in Seoul burned down. I even talked about making some Korean food for Twilli to try one day!

It’s too soon to share some of these thoughts with my daughter, but it’s not too soon to start my own homework. I have no idea what to expect. You can find oases of multicultural acceptance today. It is my hope that the oasis becomes a pasture.

My mother always said that she wanted to bring together the best of both worlds. From my vantage point, she’s still very Korean. The one who really brings the best of both worlds together is my daughter.

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Biracial children can suffer from identity crises. What are they? One unifying theme is that they are often singled out as having exceptional physical beauty.

• When we broke the news to our friend Shantelle, she exclaimed, “ohmygod! That’s going to be one beautiful baby!”
• In the January/February 2006 issue of Psychology Today, an article titled Mixed Race, Pretty Face?, the author states that people of mixed Asian and European origins have become synonymous with exotic glamour.

In my own explorations, I’ve found that many parents of mixed-race children grow weary of the comments on how exotic the child looks. This seems to be true regardless of the particular ethnicities blended.

Before you think this is another rant, think again. People say boneheaded things all the time. Comments like, “ooh, she’s so exotic looking,” may stem from ignorance and laziness. It may even be a socially conditioned response. When my wife and I are out in public, people do comment on how beautiful our daughter is. I don’t feel like we’re being gawked at. Most strangers who make comments merely think my daughter just happens to be an exceptionally cute baby.

The beauty we see in these multi-racial children transcends the physical attributes. A mixed-race child is tolerance and diversity personified. That is what I see as the source of their fabled beauty.

Lately, I’ve gained an interest in the issues that biracial children face. It never really crossed my mind during the pregnancy or even for the first couple months after my daughter’s birth. I want to be prepared for what she might face when she starts socializing with other children. As I learned more about mixed-race people, I realized that I faced many of the same issues growing up.

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