You Used Me Like A Potato…
It’s been a month and a half, and I still miss my toddlers.
I worry about them, feel guilty for leaving them.
My poor babies.
To make things worse, I am looking through listings of kids who are waiting to be adopted. I want them all. I want to help them lose that sad, empty look in their eyes.
I freely admit that I am more similar to 89 year old women than I am to women my own age.
Proof:
1. I cannot stand people text messaging or compulsively checking their cell phones when I’m trying to talk to them. Turn that shit off! Twittering especially annoys me. People my age and younger are the worst. They just don’t know how to have a conversation anymore, or how to stay off my lawn.
2. I get enraged when people pick my flowers without permission. Sure, it’s a rat-bitten bunch (seriously, a huge city rat has a home nearby; I’ve seen him!), but they’re MINE. Don’t pick them, or throw trash into them. Hell, I GROW flowers. The happiest day of spring this year was when my daisies bloomed. I’m thinking of trying to breed my own varieties of flowers.
3. I have too many cats. Yep, I have 3, and I’m only 21. I also have found myself admiring cat knick-knacks. I already have too much stuff that deals with cats around my house.
4. I have been dressing like an old woman since I was 15. Seriously, though, people born in the 40s and earlier know how to dress! Sweaters, brooches, pearl necklaces, stockings! The old men wear suspenders, which I am also fond of. If you think I’m dressing ironically, usually you are wrong. I have no comment about the plaid blazers and general mothball smell I share with my doddering brethren.
5. Naps, yo. I’d rather nap than go to a club.
6. I am a bird-watcher. My dream vacation is to go to Puerto Rico, and not for Spring Break. Oh, no. I want to go on the Tropical Bird-Watching Tour. The real reason I want to go to the Phillipines? Not the beaches. Not to meet Sean’s relatives. Not even fresh fruit. The Golden Eagle, also known as the largest, most magnificent eagle ever. If I could see that, I think I’d crap my pants! Ah, everyone assumes I’m old anyway, might as well add to their assumptions.
7. Singing in the Rain is currently my favourite movie.
8. Oh yeah, I don’t own a cell phone, and barely answer my regular phone. I plan on avoiding cell phones as long as possible.
9. I love babies. Seriously, I don’t know one old person who doesn’t love babies. Old people will smile and be nice to little ones (I even call them little ones). People my age are fuckers. They’d soon as push a toddler down than smile at them. Most of them think babies are “disgusting”.
10. String Art. Have you been to my apartment? I have pictures of birds, rendered in various forms of stitchcraft, all over the place. I can’t explain it. I just don’t think the magnificence of the essence of birds can be expressed in mediums other than thread and mosaic. Mona Lisa would not be the same in watercolor. The Great Blue Heron would not be the same in simple…paint with a frame that is not covered in seashells.
I was in Target the other day, browsing the robotic toy section, when I came across some newfangled alarm clock.
It was a robotic alarm clock that would signal to you when it was happy or sad. It could respond to light and sound. You were, of course, obligated to buy its little friend, the stereo. Mr. Stereo could also tell you whether it was happy or sad, by sending a message to the alarm clock. They could also interact with one another, like hang out and stuff.
Sean’s all like “Let’s get them! They’re so CUUUUUUTE” *puppy dog eyes*
Me: No way.
You see, we have a Catholic relationship with our robots. That is to say, a guilty one.
We liberated the Roomba. Oh yes. Our floor is covered in cat hair because I just couldn’t stand the feeling that maybe Roomba didn’t WANT to vaccuum. Maybe he would rather just buzz around, terrorizing the cats. I admit that he seems much happier this way.
I already worry about keeping my pets happy enough. I don’t want to wake up in the middle of the night and see that my alarm clock is sad. I don’t want an emotional relationship with my appliances. I mean, what the hell? Does a sad alarm clock suddenly start sobbing in the night? Does an angry stereo refuse to play anything but country? Then you have to worry if you are enslaving them…
Fuck.
I cannot count the number of times I have heard from adoptive parents the phrases, “I don’t see color,” or “I’m color-blind.”
Let me just say that neither of those traits are good things. In my experience, I have seen those phrases mean that the white parents of children of color do not acknowledge their children’s ethnic backgrounds. The children grow up without connection to their heritage, and in fact, learn to adamantly deny that they care about their heritage.
In my case, it was easy enough. My phenotype is very light. Why acknowledge any other background I might have? It would just bring up messy questions.
In my siblings’ case, it was a little harder to pretend they were not something other than white. My parents tried valiantly, though. I never tasted real rice until I moved out of my parents’ house at 18. My sister was forbidden from wearing her sari. We never met other Indians. My parents never even tried to make Indian food, or educate us about India whatsoever.
I remember a couple half-assed attempts at “cultural food”. It consisted of “chop-suey” mix from a can dumped over Minute Rice.
Blech. No wonder my brother hates rice!
My brother and sister were often told that they were “practically white,” as if that was something to reach for! Me? My parents laughed in my face when I found out about my Native heritage. “Look at you! You’re no Indian! Ahahahaha”
Hmm. For someone who is supposedly color-blind, that is certainly a color-based judgement.
It is not all my parents’ fault, this idea they have of color-blindness. Trans-national and trans-racial adoptive parents in the 1960’s, 70’s, 80’s, and 90’s were often told to raise their children “like you would if they were white.” It was considered harmful to the child to be “too focused” on their heritage. Hmm. That sounds familiar! I have been criticized for being “too sensitive” and “too focused” about my own heritage. Hell will no doubt break loose when my brother starts questioning his own identity.
Generations of adoptees are just now reclaiming their heritages. They are reclaiming the colors of their skins!
My parents will be the confused adoptive parents commenting about how their children “have changed,” how they “never used to care about that stuff.”
Now for a little entertainment to lighten up this post.
To the right is a photo of a figurine my parents gave to my sister and her husband for their wedding, and a photo of my sister. Do you notice anything…funny about the color of the figurine woman’s skin and hair? (Those of you who are not color-blind, of course!
The same thing happened around my wedding. I got a figurine for my cake that portrayed two white, blond people. I complained about it, and made loud comments about how I was going to have to repaint the groom to resemble my husband. My mom eventually got me a different cake topper :).
This is pretty much my and Sean’s love story.
The food is pretty typical for each of us, too. I still don’t like fish much, and he despises carrots! (except for carrot juice). I pursued him relentlessly, some would say to the point of obsession. Oh well!
Why I love Sean:
Me: “Argh, I’ve gained so much weight.”
Him:”Honestly, honey, your weight doesn’t affect your attractiveness.”
Me: “Liar”
Him: *shrugs* “Nope.”
Me: *blubbery dance*
I grew up in a small town in Wisconsin. 2,500 people live there.
About 2,470 of those people are white.
My brother, sister, and two Korean adoptees were the only minorities in my high school.
Me? I didn’t even know I was anything other than white until I turned sixteen. I look very, very white. My skin is so pale I burn after ten minutes in the sun. My eyes are light, and my natural hair colour is a dark reddish blonde. I had no idea that I had Cherokee ancestry.
It wasn’t so easy for my brother, sister, and those two Korean adoptees to forget about their heritages. They were marked with it. My brother and sister had an easier time of it than the KAD’s, I think. My small town is so small that during the time I was in middle and high school, most people in my high school had never even seen a black person. Truly. They thought my little brother was black! Ahahahahahaha. As you can clearly see in the picture, he is most definitely Indian. Because of the near godlike status of hip-hop culture, and thus, black people, my siblings were considered “cool.”
This didn’t shield them from racists, though. They still got hissed at in town. Especially after 9/11, the words “terrorist,” and “sand-nigger” were frequently heard.
I didn’t mean for this to be a blog about the issues surrounding trans-racial adoption, however. That is an upcoming post, and I’m kind of jumping the gun early here.
What I meant to post about is the fact that I was raised in a very isolated, racist, homophobic, and sexist part of the United States.
I mean, they still prayed at my public school! Teachers were openly homophobic and sexist. I was often shoved in hallways, with words like “Dyke” and “Fag” hissed in my direction.
I was raised in the most conservative of Lutheran sects, the Missouri Synod. This sect is so backwards that women are not allowed any positions of authority in the church, especially not as clergy. Sunday school teacher is about the most a woman can aspire to within the church. This church was particularly repressive due to the minister. The minister was asked to give a prayer at my school’s multi-faith program (a joke, I think…”multi-faith” means Lutheran, Catholic, and Methodist). Instead, he gave a tirade about how gays had brought AIDs into the world! What a disgrace. The worst part is, no one booed! People were nodding their heads in agreement!
I was raised to automatically sneer and say, “Eww” whenever homosexuality was brought up.
I was raised to believe that women belong at home, at their husband’s beck and call. My father often proudly boasted about being “head of the household”. He forced my mom to give up a very part time job at a grocery store because he thought she wasn’t home enough. My behaviour as an outspoken, ambitious girl often infuriated him.
I was raised to believe everyone from Mexico is dirty and uneducated. Everyone from Asia is either a nice Korean adoptee or one of those dog-eating Hmongs.
I was raised to hate everything different from white, Christian, Midwestern, and rural values. In doing so, I learned to hate myself.
I began to question my family’s beliefs around middle school. It started with finding a book on evolution in my school’s library. Before that, I had honestly believed that the earth was only about 10,000 years old. I believed that dinosaurs and people co-existed. I have books from that era that tell me that, that show pictures of people and dinosaurs together! Pseudo-science bullshit was pounded into me unrelentlessly. I have relatives today who believe global warming doesn’t exist, who believe the theory of evolution is sending people to Hell.
I grew up terrified that God was going to strike me down. I was a bad girl who wanted to learn about science, who read too many books (”books will suffocate you slowly” my father used to say), who was not content to grow up and become a housewife. Stay-at-hom mom wasn’t enough, you know. I was expected to stay home at all times, even before I had children. My future husband was supposed to be my keeper, because as a woman, I was obviously unable to make decisions on my own.
My parents still call Asians “Orientals,” even in front of my Asian husband. I correct them, but I’m nothing but a stupid woman! Who cares what I say! My aunt still calls black people “Negros.”
My other relatives have even more ignorant names to call minorities. I truly believe that a lot of them didn’t come to my wedding because they were horrified I married an Asian man. It seemed to comfort my parents greatly that my husband’s mother is white. I don’t think they would have accepted us at all had all my in-law’s been Asian.
It has taken years of reading, years of learning to get where I am today. I strive to be anti-racist. I struggle with those years of brain-washing.
That is why I wanted to put this out there. If I offend any of you inadvertedly by being un-PC, I am sorry. Please, please correct me. I honestly don’t know any better. I am only 21, and was raised in a very conservative, white-bread family. I am trying to break out of any ignorance. I worry that I say the wrong things.
WTF Dude works perfectly, as does “Shut the hell up!” and “Ummm…. it’s something other than that”.
Sean and I have heard racist remarks come out of the mouths of white people in regard to our marriage.
Hell, my own family has made remarks.
Whatever. I’m used to my own family’s bullshit. I’m used to white people’s issues. Fuck em.
It’s harder for me to face racism from Asians. I don’t know why, maybe because most Asians I know are very liberal.
Tonight marks the second time Sean and I have been openly disdained by Asians, in an Asian-owned restaurant.
We went to Hong Kong Noodle for the first time today. We sat down. I noticed after about ten minutes that no one was coming to take our order. People seated after us (a white couple) had their orders taken. Then another couple got their order taken. And another. Both were seated to either side of us.
“Honey, it’s okay, it’s nothing.” Sean said, noticing my glower.
Finally, after about 15 minutes, our order was taken.
By now, the people around us have their food. We waited. And waited. From the time our order was taken until we got our food was about 40 minutes. New groups were now seated. A group of four Asian students, a white couple, and another interracial couple were all seated around us. I noticed that the students and the white couple had their orders taken. The waitress was pretty passive aggressively nasty to the other interracial couple, though. When the white counterpart of the order told her what he wanted to drink, the waitress pretended not to hear him. He repeated himself. “FINE.” When the Asian girl ordered, the waitress rolled her eyes at her and huffed when the girl paused to ask the boy what he wanted.
Maybe I was seeing things, right? I should give her the benefit of the doubt….
Oh wait, that group of students? They had their food already. The white couple? They had their food, too, even though both groups ordered a good ten minutes after we did.
By now I must have been giving my death glare*. Sean asked if I wanted to leave, but I said no. I was really hungry, and I didn’t want to give them any more reason to dislike us. Stupid, right? I shouldn’t have to prove that we are worthy of a little decency.
We got our food. It was…meh. Our eel tasted less-than-fresh, and was burned. The chicken wonton soup? Sean thought it was mediocre, while I thought it was gross.
Sean asked for boxes for our food. The waitress sneered like he had just asked her to show us her tits.
I don’t know what crawled up her ass. Was it the fact that we are a mixed couple? Was it the fact that Sean is Filipino? I did notice another Filipina in the restaurant, and she didn’t get very speedy service, either.
Whatever it was, fuck em. We don’t need to return.
The other place this happened was Sushi Tango, in Uptown. The waiter there acted like we were scum.
We won’t be returning there, either.
*I guess my normal sitting-around-look is pretty bad already. I had a former employer describe my glare as “A look that could curdle milk.” Another co-worker, whom I hated and evidently glared at, told my manager that I gave her chills. Unluckily for her, the manager was also a good friend of mine. I made a point of glaring at the girl from then on. When I get my glare on, though…I once made a woman cross the street to avoid me! Ahahahaha. Nothing like the Indian Death Stare, I tell you.
boktorpotatox: Morning
me: hello dog decided to play dominos last night they’re all over the place.
boktorpotatox: Lol. I once again must ask; did she win?
me: I don’t know she must have been playing with the cats
boktorpotatox: Ohhh I bet plankton won then
me: yeah, she’s a cheat but you know Antigone was just throwing dominos everywhere like DOMINOS!!!!and the cats got disgusted only Thulu would play with her and they weren’t even playing properly
