I spent my early years in the warm island of Puerto Rico; we left that blissful and simple life a year after my father passed away. Subsequently, we moved to Florida where we started the next stage of our lives. My sister and I were in the same bilingual classroom, sharing it with students from first through fifth grade. However, recess included the entire school; we were collectively unleashed upon a field where we worked off our energy. It was during recess where I made a new friend, David.
Author: Frank
My parents immigrated three times, and twice during my lifetime. First, they married in Hong Kong, then moved to Spain. A couple of years past my birth, we moved to Puerto Rico. We lived there until my father passed. We planned to move to Florida, and the rest of us did within a year. I won’t say that my life was full of strife; life is what you make of it. I will say that it gave me a different perspective, and oftentimes it wasn’t voluntary nor necessarily welcomed.
I have spent my entire life as an outsider. Among the most interesting parts of this difference is accountability. In my high school English class, I was once called “sumo wrestler” by our class president. My proportional response was to call him a “spook”. Yes, he was black, and I knew it was a racial slur. The moment that word escaped my lips, our teacher barked at me. His uttering a slur was fine, but somehow my uttering a slur was not. This incident repeated itself weeks later with precisely the same results.
I reflect back to some of what I learned in high school. I remember sitting in Mr. Watter’s class while he introduced us to terms like dogmatic, which at the time I thought it was a cross between dog and automatic. He also went into some detail about some of our social struggles in our history. Subsequently, he mentioned Senator Joseph McCarthy and his unrelenting search for Communism, even where it didn’t exist. Why is this unusual? He taught English, not history, but he introduced me to relevant topics about our history.
I sat in my American History class while we discussed a wealth of different elements of history. The class ran through the entire year, not just a semester. Mr. Barnes, whom we affectionally called ‘Coach’, taught that class. Naturally, we talked about the Civil War and slavery, but we simply couldn’t omit it. It is an inextricable and undeniable part of our history. We discussed World War II, but the Japanese internment camps only got about five minutes. Even upon this terse mention, it was filled with rationalizations about how afraid we were. We consequently barely mention about how those Japanese, most of them United States citizens, were unjustly impacted.
Continue reading “Why teaching about the Tulsa race massacre matters”
I got into a fight on school grounds when I attended Parkway Middle School; I think it occurred during seventh grade. It was a stupid fight; in fact, I’m not sure that it was even a fight. This is what transpired. First, my friend Sean and I trash talked about something; honestly, I can’t even remember what it was. Second, it turned into shoving, with the lame excuse that one of us was violating the other’s space. Next, we threw punches. Honestly, we didn’t try to hurt each other. Other kids surrounded us; each of them fascinated by the altercation and unwilling to do anything to stop it. We continued a bit like this.
It’s sometime in the mid-2000’s. I am a bachelor and grocery shop on weekday evenings. Today’s trip is like any other such trip. First, I walk through the brightly lit aisles to gather my items; this includes produce, staples, and a 12-pack of Coke. Next, I go through the checkout to pay for my items; I often use self-checkout these days. Finally, I simply pack the items into my car and head home. Today that last step ends up occurring a bit differently.
Continue reading “The problem with ‘reasonable’ and ‘threatened’”
During my childhood, the sibling rivalry in our home manifested itself in complicated and nuanced ways. I grew up with two sisters, four years my senior and one year my junior. My father passed away when I was nine, and thus I ended up growing up as the only male in the house. As such, in a Chinese culture that is predominantly patriarchal, it similarly colored many of my experiences. Depending on the nature of the situation, I may possess an implicit seniority over my older sister. It’s something that is cultural which I navigated strictly by ‘feel’. To delicately unwrap all those interactions would take more time and space than this simple post. Similarly, to attribute an outcome as a product of culture (whether Chinese, Spanish, or American) or as a function of our individual personalities would be even more complex.
On an otherwise normal afternoon, I have a dentist appointment and leave my office with ample time to make my dental cleaning. It’s a beautiful day and I drove my Lotus Elise, a tiny little sports car. Naturally, there are many ways to get there, but today I elect to go on surface streets. Next, I drive up a residential road on a mild hill that overlooks the freeway as it crests on an all-way stop intersection. I start to coast down that hill; my destination is only about five minutes away. As I pass a cross street, I see a figure jump out into sight; he wore a uniform and wielded a radar gun. He motions for me to pull over. I was busted.
Continue reading “Having given up on ‘value of life’, it’s now about ‘accountability’”
I grew up straddled among three cultures; each of them separated by their own language. I subsequently arrived in the States in the fifth grade. During my education in Puerto Rico and later in Florida, they introduced me to fairy tales like any other child. In Puerto Rico, we read these Disney storybooks with a mini record in a sleeve in the back. We played the records too; they were the size of 45’s but played back at 33. Initially, I wondered if had indeed first heard these in Spanish. However, I then remembered the name ‘Cenicienta’, which is the Spanish version of Cinderella.
The words ‘happily ever after’ mark the prototypical ending to fairy tales. That said, children naturally understand the implication of those words when referred to Snow White and Prince Charming when the story ends. It means that the young couple gets married and lives a life of horizontal bliss. Not having actual jobs, Snow White’s screams of ecstasy fill the towers of the castle on a nightly basis, sometimes during the day too. They got married; this is completely permissible. The only real question is whether the young couple prefers missionary or doggie style.
For decades I had a Rubik’s cube as a permanent fixture on my desk at work. I first learned to solve it during middle school. I got one at a bookstore close to the family restaurant. This deluxe unit had tiles instead of stickers. When I first got it, it bore the trademark Rubik’s logo on a center square, but it rubbed off long ago. This very same cube sat in my office decades later. In some ways, this little device not only provided much of my amusement when I was young, but it also defined part of my identity. I was that guy who could solve a Rubik’s cube; it was distinctive.
Continue reading “How a Rubik’s cube demonstrates why your intuition is wrong”
On typical Florida afternoons, my time was filled with reruns of older television shows and some newer ones. I confessed to my wife that a disproportionate part of my English education was watching “Three’s Company” on television; this simple truth amused her. We spent those moments crowded around a console television; it was closer to furniture than electronics. The local stations aired “Leave it to Beaver” and “Gilligan’s Island” regularly, and they became an integral part of my childhood. In later years, those afternoons were filled with episodes of “M*A*S*H”. I can remember more details about the members of the 4077th than elements of my own life.