I’m Not a Vegetarian. I’m Chinese!

Have you seen this video yet? Fascinating. And disturbing.


It’s the type of thing that I’d comment, “WTF” on Facebook, SMH, & then move on. But nope. Today, I write a blog post because, WTF.

One day when our oldest daughter was in preschool, I got a call from her teacher, Katie.

“Today Zoë wanted to try some of another kid’s turkey, but I noticed that you guys rarely pack meat in Zoë’s lunches. I asked her if she was a vegetarian, & she laughed & said, ‘I’m not a vegetarian! I’m Chinese!'”

Katie & I had a good laugh over that one. Kids. They really show you what they think of themselves.

I’m first-generation, American-born Chinese. My parents are originally from China but spent their adulthood in Taiwan; they immigrated to the United States when they were in graduate school, & we’ve lived both stateside & overseas. My husband is Caucasian, born in Texas, raised in small-town Maine. His family has been in America since the Mayflower. Somehow, despite the differences in our childhood experiences, we two are kindred spirits.

When Zoë was 5 & declared herself to be Chinese & not a vegetarian, I don’t think we’d ever really talked to her about her mixed-race heritage, being Asian or white, or being an American. I think I was a little busy worrying about soy vs. dairy & whether or not My Baby Can Read was going to work (still not sure). When Katie told me what she said, I realized we had never covered the topic consciously or explicitly. And I wondered if we should.

AIM Mixed Race Family

We “Chinese” people. (Photograph by Desiree Asher Photography. I love this photograph. Aw, look at us…)

I subscribe to the belief that “what we focus on expands.” And I have feared that the focus on race in our family might lead to more issues or negativity than otherwise. We’d kind of been operating on the basis of, “You are who you are, & it’s awesome, & other people are awesome too.” Period, no qualifiers.

So, we had a little convo with Zoë that day, & it also came up that she thinks “we” are all Chinese–Daddy included. And I didn’t correct her right away, because I wanted to find out what “Chinese” meant to her. And as only a 5-year-old can, she explained herself in phrases & terms that I didn’t totally get. I think it meant we’re a family, & we are “we.”

Occasionally, the topic of moving to Maine has come up. Max & I always talk about it with a lot of enthusiasm & idealism: It’ll be great for the kids to have lots of nature! They’ll be able to play outside. They’ll love the seasons & the snow! They’ll be close to grandparents. They’ll learn can-do, country skills! No traffic! The cost of living will be so much more affordable than living in a Big City! Max is understandably wistful & nostalgic & longing to give his own children the idyllic upbringing he had in Small Town, America.

But I remember distinctly arriving in Maine the first time I visited there to attend my future sister-in-law’s wedding. I was the only person of color in the entire Bangor Airport. I think I usually wouldn’t notice, but it’s been a long time since I’ve been the only person of color anywhere I’ve been, since I’ve been living in Los Angeles foreverrrrr. It was the same feeling I had when I arrived in Taiwan when I was 12–but in reverse, because there, everyone looked like me (don’t get all crazy: not all Asians look alike alike, just keep reading). I’d never been in a majority population before. The truth is, I’m not comfortable with either end of extreme homogeneity. I’ve always been most at home in a really diverse environment like the one we live in now–populated with people of many ethnic backgrounds: whites, Hispanics, Asians & blacks from all different countries.

So, I told Max, “I don’t want my children to grow up in a town where their mom is the only person of color.” It would mean that the kids would be the only mixed race kids. I’m all about kids growing up feeling unique & having challenges that they overcome in the name of building character, but I remember very clearly what it was like to be one of three Asians in my elementary school in an area that is now ironically very Asian. Sharon Yamamoto & Mike Arai were both great at sports, which pretty much cements your social status in a Southern California suburb. I was not. I deeply felt my differentness in the 1970’s & 1980’s when Christie Brinkley & Cheryl Tiegs were the epitome of beauty. My only role model was newscaster Connie Chung. And the only other Asian women I saw on TV played prostitutes & refugees (you remember: M*A*S*H). So, in fifth grade, I decided I was going to go into broadcasting. Made sense.

And deep inside me, I don’t want my children to be led to believe that their non-white side is lesser than their white one. It’s very easy for this to happen, regardless of the model minority stereotype that comes with being Asian. America–& the world–has a long way to go with race relations. There are deeply ingrained prejudices that underlie the attitudes of the people that will come into contact with our children–their relatives, their teachers & coaches, their friends, their friends’ parents, their college admissions officers, their potential employers–attitudes most people won’t talk about, & when they do, it’s usually in a “political correctness be damned” kind of way, which really just means rude & self-righteous. Furthermore, our children will come in contact with attitudes that seem to represent people, but not through people–through social media & the news.

In Zoë’s class recently, the topic of Donald Trump’s racism came up. A student said, “If Donald Trump becomes president, he says he’s going to deport all the Mexicans.” Now keep in mind, this was said in the context that Trump’s views are actually repellent & wrong, but there was something about just those words that brought a real pall to the energy of the room. For the one Mexican-American child in the class*, I wonder how that felt for him. I think I know how it did, because for the 9-year-old me, it would have felt yucky. And I would not have had the words to express that feeling–or my indignation, or fear, or disgust, or bewilderment. As the parent teacher in the room that day, witnessing this discussion, I said, “Well, that’s not going to happen.” Because over my dead body.

Whether we like it or not, whether we want to admit it, prejudice is invisible & ubiquitous. That is what was so disconcerting about the video above. Where do children get these ideas? Most likely they are not consciously & explicitly taught them by their parents, though some may be, horrifying as that is to many of us.

And the teacher & parent in me always asks, “What can we do about this?” How can we raise kids not to have these prejudices about themselves & others? And if your own children are mixed race, how can you raise them to honor & celebrate all the components of who they are?

And I wonder, what would the kids in our community say if asked the same questions in that video, with a black doll, brown doll & a white doll? And for my kids, none of those dolls represents them either.

Zoë is 9 now, & she knows we are not all Chinese. I’m not sure when she discovered or determined that. I’ll have to ask her. I’ll report back.

* Zoë’s class has 5 kids in it (more about that another post when I will toot the horn of this amazing progressive school), & the breakdown is three Caucasian-Americans (one is half Iranian), one Mexican-American, one Amer-Asian.




Weekly Dinner Planning for the Mom Who Hates Cooking

So, we just finished watching the first season of Worst Cooks in America. We love this show because:

  1. it shows people learning from the basics,
  2. the contestants are really supportive of each other, even on opposing teams,
  3. the chef coaches really believe the contestants can learn how to cook.

After watching a few shows, my kids said to me, “Mama, you aren’t even as bad as them.”

This, my friends, is a huge vote of confidence, because I hate cooking. And as much as I try not to say anything, my kids are well aware of my nemesis.

Well, let me rephrase & reframe: I hate being interrupted while cooking. I’m not good at it, I don’t have a natural talent for it, & I have 20 other things I’m more interested in improving in my life. Being interrupted while trying to follow a recipe is torture.

I’m more of an “assembler.” I like making salads, sandwiches, omelettes, & lasagna. I trust myself & semi-enjoy putting a bunch of things together, but I have neither the attention span nor the acumen for actual chemistry & multiple steps that overlap.

So my approach to feeding my kids has been, for the last 9 years, avoid it. At all costs, avoid cooking. Order in. Warm up frozen food. Assemble cold items. Serve crudité.

I obviously have a problem, but I have a bunch of other problems that seem to have solutions with more potential than me actually learning to cook or learning to like cooking. Not even the $25,000 prize on Worst Cooks in America makes me the least bit interested in doing what it would take to win in.

One of my major obstacles is planning ahead; I don’t (see “my approach” above). So when I don’t have any plans, I then have to make decisions on the fly at the last minute when three kids are gathered around my behind when I’ve got my head in the freezer, looking for options. By 5 PM, I have decision fatigue, & I can’t possibly make one more choice. I have on occasion told my kids with great enthusiasm, like it’s a treat, “Yes! Go ahead & just eat snacks! It’ll be fun!”

So our family is about to embark on a brand new adventure: Tonight, over dinner that my husband has prepared, we will plan out our dinners for the coming week. I found this very awesome form online, & thank you to ‘Chelle from her site Getting Sorted Each Day As It Comes. I like this form because it has three lines for each dinner, which I’ll use one each for protein, veggie, & carb. Then all the items are listed on the right in an actual column for the grocery shopping (another thing I dread). Some forms online look cute but have cloud shapes & paragraph forms for lists–nope.


Dinner smells good up there. My husband is a pretty good cook. Wish us luck. I’ll let you know what happens.