"Asian Invasion"

Notice this darling picture of Wooly, enjoying the Story Circle at Preschool.  His yellow hair pops over the endless array of black hair, much like his personality.

Last week at Wooly's preschool, a Dad wore a t-shirt that read, "Asian Invasion."  I laughed and told him that his shirt was funny.  He grimaced and walked away.  Oh, sorry, you are serious.  I  just thought it was a funny t-shirt. My mistake.

We exchanged smiles, smirks, whatever, and in the meantime, for all I know, Wooly and Columbine, kept themselves entertained by licking fingerpaint or throwing playdough, dumb white kids.

We don't talk much about race at home.  The conversation, when it happens, is more a matter of observation than anything else.  Having lived in the islands before, when we moved back, I hadn't thought to prepare my children for the transition of stepping out of their Big White Bubble.  I welcomed it, believed the experience would be good for their characters, for their souls.  I still stand by that belief, however simplistic it may sound. 

As such, I can't say I pay much attention to all the different races and cultures that my children are experiencing for the first time.  Perhaps I should have tried to explain "things"?  Good chance that even with a Cultural Awareness Chat, they still would have been caught off-guard by the Asian-ness of it all.  And not just that, it's such a mixed plate in Hawaii, any explanation I could give would most likely be wrong.  Can you tell the difference between a Tongan and Samoan?  Yeah, me neither.

I'd like to think that my neutrality influences my children for the good.  I don't think to ask them about the differences they see around them because I choose not to see them.  It's just part of life.  White, brown, whatever, we all live together on this one volcanic rock.

And perhaps hat is why I got a laugh out of the Pre-school dad's "Asian Invasion" t-shirt.  I couldn't help it, it was just funny. Especially since the guy wearing the shirt wasn't Asian.  He looked Tongan.  Or maybe Samoan? Hard to tell.

I thought all this time that my kids were happily riding along my Color Blind Train, enjoying all the lovely cocoa-brown scenery.  Wrong!  At least when it comes to Wooly.  They're riding it alright, but they aren't blind to it.  

At Costco tonight, mecca for all island-dwelling families, we navigated our cart to the Highway Robbery Isle to get milk.  Stupid milk.   I stopped our cart next to a lovely Pacific Asian Islander (I think that's the right PC classification?) family.

Where's a sample to shove in that kids mouth already?  Had I only known what was about to come out, I would have thrown a pair of socks into the cart before heading to grab the milk.  Costco does sell socks, this I know.  Hindsight, it's always 20/20.

Spotting our Asian compadres, Wooly belts out: "Are YOU from Chinese?!"


It didn't help matters that his sisters thought this wildly funny, only encouraging him to say it again.  And again.  And again.  Louder, of course, each time.

And like the t-shirt faux pas, the Asian (clearly not from China) family, didn't think my son's question was funny.  

Forget the milk, kids.  We need to leave the store. 

Always on the grow,