It is 2001, and I meticulously track the baseball season.  My favorite team, the Atlanta Braves, are tracking well into yet another division title.  I am both a bachelor and a night owl and routinely fall asleep to the television on ESPN’s Sports Center.  This is precisely what happens on this September Monday; I expect to wake to the morning version of Sports Center.  I do not.  The conventional news plays on ESPN, which perplexes me.  Then, I watch in horror as I see a plane strike one of the Twin Towers in New York City.  Quite abruptly, the world changed.

Continue reading “The price of perceived safety and security”

Shortly after I arrived in Washington, my friend had a few people over; it was a party.  I was young and new to the team and most of my friends were a group of interns to whom I was closer in age to my full-time peers.  In this particular case, I brought a lot of Rolling Rock beer.  I drank it too quickly, and my body reacted accordingly.  I subsequently spent some time in the single bathroom in the apartment vomiting violently.  While my friends were sympathetic to my predicament, my friend eventually threatened to pee on my head.  I collected myself and cleared out of that single bathroom.

Continue reading “Racism and how do we know what is appropriate?”

I drove a 1966 Mustang when I attended college.  Her name was Lisa, and she was two years older than I.  I loved that car, but she was an incredible nuisance.  I learned to service many elements of that car and shuttled back and forth between my school in Miami and my home in Fort Lauderdale with a trunk full of tools.  It was a love/hate relationship.  I could write an entire blog post reminiscing about Lisa, but I won’t do that today, besides…  I’ve already done that.

Instead, I’ll marvel about the safety features of that car, which is to say nearly none.  The car had a set of lap seatbelts, which didn’t retract.  A shoulder strap that extended from the roof of the car, and you could extend that and clip it on.  You had a choice strapping in across the belt or the shoulder, but not both.  That’s about the extent of the safety features of the car.

People often describe cars of that era as ‘tanks’, since they are much more likely to survive an accident.  The subtle subtext is that the car survives, but the passengers incur more injury.

Continue reading “What are the odds?”

I sat in my living room as the verdict came in for former police officer Kim Potter, who shot Daunte Wright to death on a routine traffic stop.  The verdict subsequently came in as guilty for two counts of manslaughter.  About a year ago, I watched this video clip of a motorist with a gun on their dashboard on a traffic stop.  He defies the police and even drives off against their instructions without incident.  That driver is white and alive; Daunte Wright is black and dead.  People who talk to me, or read my posts, will know that I generally lean left when it comes to social issues.  If I were to follow that trend, I would be celebrating this conviction.  I’m not; I’m conflicted.

Continue reading “Where is the line between accident and negligence?”

Decades ago, I moved from Florida to Washington state after graduating to start my professional career.  While conversing with friends they told me this outrageous tale that occurred here in the Pacific Northwest.  The story goes that a whale had become beached in Oregon and died.  The decomposing whale had literally become a stinking problem and the locals contemplated how to remedy this problem.  They concluded that the easiest way to address the issue was to blow it up with dynamite, which would vaporize the whale.

Continue reading “What do exploding whales have to do with racism?”

The year is around 1980.  I, a boy about twelve years-old, quietly exit the school bus; I hope to avoid detection.  Unfortunately, I do not.  The bullies subsequently harass me as I walk home in quiet humiliation.  Repeatedly, they shove me hard enough to lose my balance and fall to the ground.  The bullies continue yard after yard.  Other kids meanwhile watch in fascination as they witness the altercation but do not intervene.

Months later, I attend school like any other day.  Some boys and I take a break between classes, and we start to horse-play.  In one of those exchanges one boy shoved me much like those instances off the bus.  This shove was different; this time another boy kneeled behind me.  In this position, I failed to break my fall and land squarely on my clavicle, fracturing it.  I initially believed that they merely dislocated it; my friend naively tried to pop it back in place.  It hurt… a lot.  With the pain persisting, I went to the school nurse, who consequently called my mom.

Continue reading “Are your intentions honorable?”

I first discovered baseball in my teens, and it’s a passion that has cycled from casual to ardent.  I’ve never played the game, not even in a league.  I think my interest stems from my fascination with numbers and my alleged ability to endlessly recall facts that elude so many others.  I was indoctrinated by some very wise and witty voices that taught so many interesting tales about the game.

Fast forward to 2001, this is a year where my attention to baseball is heightened.  It is midway through the baseball season.  I wait in line at a Barnes and Noble with a baseball book in hand.  The man behind me sees the book, turns to me, and comments, “Isn’t this season great?”

Continue reading “Identifying with a team”

We all have those moments when we’re flying; we get into that mode.  This is an account of a day of travel.  First, my initial flight takes off late; I normally schedule a moderate layover, but this was going to cut it close.  Next, we land in Texas.  It was either Dallas or Houston; I don’t remember.  My second flight has yet to depart, which is in an entirely different concourse.  I barely have enough time to arrive at the next gate.  The moment the plane stops, I grab my bags and deplane as quickly as possible.  I stop only long enough to get my bearings in an unfamiliar airport.  Finally, I conclude that the quickest way to get to my next gate is the shuttle between concourses.  That’s precisely what I do.

Continue reading “Is this racism?”

A Chinese boy sits in a warm classroom in Puerto Rico.  He learned Cantonese from his parents, and they don’t speak Spanish at home.  His first experience speaking the native tongue is Kindergarten, where he needs to catch up.  This boy is now in third grade; he learned to print and write in cursive.  His teacher calls upon him to read and he reads as competently as anyone else in his class.  This boy is me around 1976.

As our teacher calls upon different students to read, there are two students (a boy and a girl) who consistently struggle; they’re siblings if memory serves.  They seem perfectly competent at everything else but struggle to read.  Naturally, each student will struggle and excel at different subjects, but this felt different.  The way that they read almost seemed as if they transposed letters.

Continue reading “We are not ‘confusing’ them”

Years after I left Florida, I stopped to visit a Chinese friend of the family on a return visit.  He was a friend of my mom’s, but he and I also worked together for a while.  He now owned his own business.  I admired him for his kindness and respected him for his principle.  He gave me room to be myself apart from the pressures from the community.  We caught up in our respective lives.  I asked about his business; he asked about my life as an engineer.  Eventually, he makes a suggestion, which sounded more like a directive, “You should go back to China to find a wife.  It’d make your mom happy.  It is our people.”

Continue reading “Finding my Asian-American voice”