Our underperforming Oakland public school

The anxiety was palpable last night at my preschool's Kindergarten Information Night. We all want the best for our children, right? The vast majority of kids from our fabulous, play-based, progressive preschool go on to enroll in private schools. Now, I don't have anything against private schools. We'll be checking out a couple of them. But, our top two choices for grade school are the North Oakland Charter School, which is notoriously difficult to get into, and the underperforming Emerson Elementary across the street from our house.

There have been neighborhood efforts to "get involved" and improve the school and make it more attractive to people like us. It's very slow-going and people who are interested in the school eventually have bailed and taken transfers to schools with better reputations and test scores.

There's a private school in Oakland that we are interested in. I met a parent who has two kids there who was lamenting the costs of private school education and still has a third child to go... He mentioned that not only do the families pay for their kids' education, they also subsidize the tuition for families who can't afford to go to their school. This is a way that they bring diversity into the school, which is all very noble. But, people, we live in Oakland. It's difficult to find a more diverse city. This "diversity" can be found at our public schools.

I worry, will I be "sacrificing" my son's education if I send him to an undesirable school? The problem is, change won't happen until we send our kids to the public schools. We all want someone else to be the pioneer, do the hard work.

Jets and Sharks

West Side Story is one of my all-time favorite movies. I bought the DVD and let my four-year-old watch it with me recently. Watching the gangs dance/fight, he says to me, "Mommy, we're Sharks, but Daddy's a Jet because he has light skin."

I tell him that our family is special because I'm a Shark, Daddy's a Jet, and Oscar is both Shark and Jet. A couple nights later, he tells me that he doesn't want to be both Shark and Jet. He wants to just be a Shark. I didn't know what to say.

So it begins, Oscar's growing awareness of race and his own journey as a biracial kid.

Takes me back to World War II anti-Jap propaganda

What's with the buck teeth?
See the news story here.

Two Easter cards were pulled from a San Diego Target store because of demands made by Asian groups. According to the online survey, 58% of 1942 respondents don't seem to get that this image is offensive. Now imagine if the bunny were a "Sambo" character in blackface and big lips.

Happy Lunar New Year

I spent New Year's Day (Jan. 29) at the Oakland Museum Lunar New Year celebration showing kids how to make red envelopes.

Us Asians like to give and get money as gifts... isn't it so much nicer than receiving something you're going to put in the garage-sale box? As I try to consume less, I find that I now tell everyone at Christmas and birthdays, "Please, no gifts." Sure, I'll take money. It'll go to good use, too, like food and clothes, and fun activities.

A friend forwarded this link to an article about Asians lobbying to get Lunar New Year's Day some official recognition.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/01/28/AR2006012800926.html

Can't Get Away from Race

Been too busy and otherwise occupied to post much, but there were a number of thoughts and incidents that reminded me that there is no getting away from race. I read on Margaret Cho's blog about her desire to be white for one day. Just to experience a day without race.

I recently got two books by my friend and neighbor Julian Okwu. Face Forward: Young African American Men in a Critical Age and As I Am: Young African American Women in a Critical Age.

In the introduction, Julian talks about being spit in the face by someone in San Francisco. It reminded me that my cousin got spit on at a BART station... The only time I got spit on was when I was a little kid in Hinsdale, Illinois. I was on my way to school and an older boy on a bike called me names and spit in my face. That kind of experience stays with you. I try to make a life for myself where I rarely encounter that sort of hatred.

A multi-gastronomic Thanksgiving

We were invited to a potluck Thanksgiving dinner at Josh and Nancy's house. Josh's parents and sister were visiting, and our other neighbors Anya and Julian were there with their son Florian.

Now, this is what I love about Oakland: there's me, my white husband, my Hapa son, Anja is Swiss-American, Julian is from Nigeria, their son is a beautiful mocha child, and Josh and Nancy's clan are Jews. Skin color, ethnicity, race, country of origin--none of it mattered! Certainly didn't make for any difference is how we relate and communicate with each other.

If anything, the greater divide (since we all have kids) was between the non-meat-eaters and meat-eaters. The vegetarian dishes included an "Unturkey" a soy, gluten product that was shaped like a ball with stuffing inside; and a really tasty cheese-nutloaf from the Greens cookbook. We brought the meat in the form of two smoked beercan chickens that Lloyd made. (The open beer cans go inside the chickens, and they smoke standing up in the grill. It's really good.)

Wouldn't it be something if what you choose to eat was more distinguishing than the color of your skin?

Thais don't use chopsticks

A few weeks ago I was at a business conference in Phoenix. At dinner at a Thai restaurant with five other people, I showed everyone the card catalog for Chopsticks, Please. The origin of the name is the fact that I still have to ask for chopsticks when I go to an Asian restaurant. My fellow diner Steve looks around and comments "Why aren't there any chopsticks?" I tell him that the Thai don't use chopsticks. Either he didn't hear me or didn't care. He was a man on a mission. He left the table to speak to the busboy. Some ten minutes later, the very apologetic busboy is laying out chopsticks for everyone. When he gets to me, he says, "I'm really sorry that we didn't have the chopsticks out." Hmm, I'm wondering how they happened to have chopsticks at the restaurant. Well, it's Phoenix, not a whole lot of Asians there.

The evening was filled with ethnic foibles. A comment, "They always have their white gloves on," referring to Asian drivers made me vaguely uncomfortable, but, I didn't know why. And then a comment about someone who looked like JarJar Binks really made me uncomfortable. Later, on the way back to the hotel, one of my cabmates (male) asks the black-skinned driver, "Where are you from?" The driver says, "I've lived here in Phoenix for eight years."
"No, where are you FROM" No answer.
"Where were you born?" This was getting a little hostile I thought. The driver told us to guess, and we started naming all the African countries we knew. Turned out he was from Mali. We didn't guess it. The chief interrogator is an Israeli. I'm thinking, what's his deal?

It wasn't until the next day that I felt that indeed, there had been racist comments made. I'm not accustomed to it. Not being braced for it in my everyday life, I was surprised that these wonderfully creative, interesting and (I assume) progressive people would reveal any hint of racism. I told my friend Kyla who had been there that evening about how strange the evening had been for me. She admonished me for not saying anything at the time. But, the truth is, I didn't know what it was at the time. I just felt uncomfortable. She told me she's brought whole parties to a screeching halt by calling someone on their racist comment. I admire that, but then again, she's white. I don't know if I would be brave enough to do that.