tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34656767049628965042024-03-13T15:19:18.612-07:00Rants, Ravings and RuminationsThis blog features the three Rs of a restless hungry ghost. I'm a mother/ daughter/ sister/ storyteller/ writer/ editor/ dreamer/ doer.Lisa Chiuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09750693135688849345noreply@blogger.comBlogger221125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3465676704962896504.post-14237780791303904682021-05-03T20:07:00.010-07:002021-06-23T21:47:05.611-07:00Top 3 Tantrums of My Adulthood (thus far)<img alt="My mom's 80th birthday" border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-72v428GG2v0/YNQLFzvL87I/AAAAAAAAECE/3doZx0St054-5yTrM_8yzLi_vTXbGBU2gCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/IMG_0043.jpg" title="My mom's 80th birthday" width="300" /> <p style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">Many of my friends have left lovely comments on Facebook and Instagram in response to my post about my mom's 80th birthday. Thank you, friends! But in posting a breezy birthday message and cute photos to go with the post, I feel like I was not being fully honest. So I'm here to reveal the humbling truth behind the pretty pictures. An hour before my parents arrived at my house for an outdoor family dinner, I had one of the biggest meltdowns of my life. It was pretty major. <span style="font-family: inherit;">Here are the top three tantrums of my adulthood (thus far):</span></p><p style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="d75nv-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">1) <b>The Turkey in the Pantry Incident<br /></b></span><span data-offset-key="d75nv-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">This was in 2002. I was pregnant with my firstborn, starving, and looking to make a turkey sandwich. Nothing fancy. Just some deli turkey slices on whole wheat bread with some mustard. But alas, the turkey in the fridge was spoiled. <i>People in the house knew this but did not discard the turkey!</i> They left it there for some unsuspecting hungry person - me - to discover and deal with. I was furious and shrieked. I shrieked a lot. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Everyone scurried as I shrieked. With no one around to hear my shrieking, I </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">chucked the package of turkey into the pantry.</span></p><p style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="ejggd-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">2) <b>That One Time We Went to the AT&T Authorized Retailer<br /></b></span><span data-offset-key="ejggd-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">I don't really have to explain this one, do I? If you've been to an AT&T Authorized Retailer, chances are you have had your own bad experiences there. Mine happened a few years ago. I went in to inquire about a new smartphone, but while I as there, the salesperson talked me into a "free" tablet. But as you probably know, and I know now, nothing from AT&T is free. My husband and I were upset when we saw the charges that showed up on our bill so we went to the store together to resolve our billing questions, with our younger son in tow. The five-year-old sat and read a book while we asked to speak to a manager. My husband did most of the talking and everything was going well so I turned my back to talk to my child. That's when I heard the salesperson say, "Maybe your wife didn't understand..." <i>Oh no he didn't</i>. Honestly, I don't know what happened after he said that because I kind of blacked out. But my husband and younger son still chuckle about "that time mom lost her temper at the AT&T store."</span></p><p style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="crtgt-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">3) <b>My Mom's 80th Birthday<br /></b></span><span data-offset-key="crtgt-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">This one happened yesterday. We planned a small family get-together to celebrate my mom's 80th birthday - just me, my husband, our kids, and my parents. My sister's family would join from California via a video call. We agreed, confirmed, reconfirmed, and extra-confirmed that my parents would arrive at my house at 5:00PM. Even though we were going to eat outside, we prepared for my parents to come inside the house for a bit. My husband, the kids and I spent the day in a housecleaning frenzy, vacuuming, dusting and tidying. We decorated the living room and dining room with paper flowers. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I was determined to have a perfect reunion with my parents for my mom's milestone birthday.</span></p><p style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="crtgt-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Earlier in the day I baked two yellow cake layers (from a box mix - don't be impressed) - but left out the eggs due to a food allergy. When it came time to stack the cakes, I lifted one layer and it broke in half. No! I tried to pick up the half that had fallen and it broke into multiple pieces. NO! I tried to pick up the other layer and that also broke into pieces. NOOOO! Without eggs, the cake didn't bind. My son, waiting to frost the cake, stood horrified, as I picked up the pieces and threw them at the wall. "WE DON'T NEED CAKE! WHO NEEDS CAKE? THROW THIS STUPID CAKE IN THE GARBAGE!" I swore. A lot. I fled the scene of the crime as my younger son desperately tried to frost the remaining cake crumbs.</span></p><p style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">"It's fine, Mom! You're overreacting," he ca<span style="font-family: inherit;">lled out to me. "We'll just tell people to close their eyes when they eat it. No one will care."</span></p><p style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">I sulked over the cake disaster.<span style="font-family: inherit;"> I</span> had wanted to give my mom a double-layered <span style="font-family: inherit;">chocolate frosted yellow cake. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Two months ago, I had baked a cake for my dad's 80th birthday (also from a box mix, but with eggs that time) and I wanted my mom to have a cake too. For my dad's birthday, we stood outside in frosty February-in-Cleveland weather. But for my mom's celebration, we were blessed with a gorgeous day - 80 degrees for my mom's 80th birthday. All of us, except my younger son, have been vaccinated and we could finally be together in person. I just wanted everything to be perfect for our reunion.</span><br /></p><p style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">My nerves were frayed and<span style="font-family: inherit;"> now I had to clean up the aftermath of the cake mess I made. I was anxious and taking it out on everybody in the house. The "cake" was a mess. The homemade pop-up card my older son made out of construction paper, with Chinese characters and English words, wasn't good enough - the Chinese characters were uneven. There were piles of paper and other stuff (all mine) still on the dining table. I was spinning out of control.</span></p><p style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Suddenly, there was a knock at our door. My parents were here! A half hour early.</span></span></p><p style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I wish I could say that I greeted them warmly. I didn't. I said, "It's not 5 o'clock! Why are you here so early?! We said 5 o'clock! It's only 4:30! I'm still cleaning! IT'S NOT 5 YET! I'M NOT READY!" My parents looked at each other and then my dad said, "It's okay. We can take Bailey for a walk while you get ready." He put a leash on our dog and they took him out for a stroll through our neighborhood.</span></p><p style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I wish I could say that I had calmed down while my parents took our dog for a walk but I was still fuming. "But it's not 5 o'clock!" I wailed to my husband. My younger son cleared the dining table, carrying six loads (he counted) of my things upstairs to my bedroom.</span></span></p><p style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Yes, but you know they always show up early," my husband said. "And they were probably so excited to see us and couldn't wait to get here."</span></p><p style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When my parents returned from walking the dog, my dad pulled me aside and said, "You can say what you need to say but you can do it with a softer tone. You could just say, 'Oh, you are early! I wasn't expecting you so soon.'" He was right and I was ashamed.</span></p><p style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="crtgt-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the end, everyone pretended I didn't just throw an epic tantrum and we had a lovely meal together outside on our deck. No one commented on the pan of chocolate frosted cake crumbs and my mom happily blew out the candle I planted in the gooey mess. My dad helped me cut and serve "slices" of the "cake" and everyone ate their pile of crumbs. And my kids even asked for more, polishing off the cake pan.</span></span></p><p style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am sorry and embarrassed for being such a jerk on what should have been a purely joyous day. It's been a long year and I have to relearn how to be a human being.</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><script type="text/javascript">
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</script></div><div><br /></div><div>And then I checked Twitter.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't know how to describe how I feel. Distraught? Outraged? Exhausted? Yes. </div><div><br /></div><div>Is it the misogyny? Is it the racism? Is it the gun violence? Yes. </div><div><br /></div><div>Minutes before the Georgia shootings, <a href="https://stopaapihate.org/reportsreleases/">Stop AAPI Hate released a report that there have been 3,800 anti-Asian incidents in the past year</a>. Most of those have been against women. Of the eight victims in the Georgia shootings, six are women of Asian descent. The Georgia killer said he has a sex addiction and that the shootings were not motivated by race. </div><div><br /></div><div>Misogyny and racism are not mutually exclusive. </div><div><br /></div><div>The AAPI women I know understand this. We are accustomed to being seen as perpetual foreigners and asked "Where are you from? No, <i>really</i>, where are you from?" As children, some of us were teased with "ching chong" chants. Later on, we were fetishized, exoticized and oversexualized: "Is it true what they say about Asian women?" We've been accosted and assaulted. </div><div><br /></div><div>In the past year, we've heard our former president give speeches about "the China virus" or "kung flu." We've been worried about coughing or sneezing in public. We've been told, "Go back where you came from." We've worried about our elderly parents getting targeted when they are out in public.</div><div><br /></div><div>Particularly for some of us with East Asian backgrounds, we were perceived as being part of the "model minority". We were expected to get good grades, achieve, and not make waves. We were considered "honorary Whites," which diminished and erased essential parts of us. We grew very sensitive social antennae to navigate our surroundings. </div><div><br /></div><div>Some people, especially other BIPOC friends, have checked in on me and asked how they can <a href="https://stopaapihate.org/actnow/">support the AAPI community right now</a>.Yesterday, I was too numb to think about anything specific. But I did email my city's mayor and ask him if he could put out a statement. He replied within four minutes that he was already on it. </div><div><br /></div><div>If you are in a position of privilege or power, use it to help people who are vulnerable and don't have the resources you have. </div><div><br /></div><div>We need solidarity. </div><div><br /></div><div>We need words and we also need action. </div><div><br /></div><div>We need people to speak up and stand up, not just for us but for every victim of injustice. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Lisa Chiuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09750693135688849345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3465676704962896504.post-26760689387764619032020-11-14T10:09:00.010-08:002021-02-27T00:46:02.794-08:00Neighborhood VoicesI am honored and proud to be among the writers included in <a href="https://voices.cpl.org/" target=""></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://voices.cpl.org/" target=""></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zHtptynJKB4/X7AvevTWERI/AAAAAAAADkY/ncGfR75PxFgkrUr3Ht6KxA8m5AjuTY7JQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1726/IMG_0376.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1726" data-original-width="1236" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zHtptynJKB4/X7AvevTWERI/AAAAAAAADkY/ncGfR75PxFgkrUr3Ht6KxA8m5AjuTY7JQCLcBGAsYHQ/w229-h320/IMG_0376.jpg" title="Neighborhood Voices" width="229" /></a></div><a href="https://voices.cpl.org/">Neighborhood Voices</a>, a city-wide writing anthology project produced by <a href="https://www.litcleveland.org/">Literary Cleveland</a> and the <a href="https://cpl.org/">Cleveland Public Library</a>. <br /><div><br /></div><div>For this anthology, I wrote a memoir piece, "<a href="https://voices.cpl.org/project/canunderstandcannotspeak" target="_blank">Can Understand, Cannot Speak</a>," about bussing tables at a Chinese restaurant in Midtown Cleveland. I was a high school student then and that experience galvanized me as an Asian American writer growing up in the Rust Belt. </div><div><br /></div><div>My story is just one of many in this project, which includes voices from all over Cleveland. The print version will be available later this year, but you can check out the online version now to read about <a href="https://voices.cpl.org/project/sundayservice">finding fellowship at a Sunday barbecue</a> in Mount Pleasant, <a href="https://voices.cpl.org/project/youmeandus">shopping for produce at West Side Market</a> alongside Dennis Kucinich, <a href="https://voices.cpl.org/project/photographystudent">photographing the sights of University Circle</a>, and <a href="https://voices.cpl.org/project/2050">imagining a future without violence</a> in Glenville.</div>Lisa Chiuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09750693135688849345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3465676704962896504.post-28548321640724711652020-10-28T18:33:00.078-07:002021-02-27T00:59:36.157-08:00In praise of Target parking lotsI love Target. I miss the Before Times when I could take long leisurely shopping trips there, browsing every aisle, taking my time. I could get everything I wanted at Target, from snacks to office supplies to pharmacy medications. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0_1ybO0sLRo/X7A9DIRk9CI/AAAAAAAADk0/5oUmtEgLfpgT7jXXvY0hNv0S4bVCPO02wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1242/IMG_9550.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 2em;"><img alt="Police blotter blurb" border="0" data-original-height="707" data-original-width="1242" height="182" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0_1ybO0sLRo/X7A9DIRk9CI/AAAAAAAADk0/5oUmtEgLfpgT7jXXvY0hNv0S4bVCPO02wCLcBGAsYHQ/w320-h182/IMG_9550.jpg" title="Is it a crime?" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I even like Target parking lots and have my favorite places to park there (i.e. next to a shopping cart corral in a close-but-not-too-close row near the entrance).
 </div><div><br /></div><div>Even after my shopping trips to Target were finished and my bags were loaded into the trunk of my car, I liked taking my time before heading home. I could sip a cold drink I just bought from the Target Starbucks and maybe open up a bag of snacks. I could listen to music in the car, blissfully, by myself, away from any demands from home, work, family, the world. </div><div><br /></div><div>So when I read the police blotter blurb in the community newspaper that a woman was stopped by a police officer for hanging out in a Target parking lot after hours, I was horrified. What is the crime in sitting in your car not bothering anybody? I know this woman. I am this woman. I felt such a deep connection to this woman that I was compelled to reach out to her. </div><div><br /></div><div>Read the <a href="https://www.mcsweeneys.net/articles/an-open-letter-to-the-woman-who-was-questioned-by-a-police-officer-for-merely-sitting-in-her-car-in-a-target-parking-lot-after-midnight-taking-a-break-from-her-family">open letter I wrote to her for McSweeney's</a>.</div>Lisa Chiuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09750693135688849345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3465676704962896504.post-27399262847985297782020-08-14T09:58:00.001-07:002020-08-14T10:23:48.315-07:00Tour of Grief<div><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Two summers ago, I remember reading news about an orca whose newborn calf died about thirty minutes after being born. The mother, called J35 and nicknamed Tahlequah, carried her dead calf for 1,000 miles in the waters of the Pacific Northwest. She kept her baby afloat for seventeen days, balancing it and lifting it up with her head. Other whales and dolphins have been known to mourn the loss of a family member, but not for this long. Researchers called it a record-breaking “<a href="https://www.nationalgeographic.com/animals/2018/08/orca-mourning-calf-killer-whale-northwest-news/">tour of grief</a>.”</span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><br />During this pandemic, someone is always grieving. I have 981 Facebook friends. Without being able to visit family and friends in person the way we used to, I mostly stay in touch with everyone through social media. When I scroll through the newsfeeds, I scan posts that give me emotional whiplash - a photo of a homecooked meal, an announcement of a work-related award, pictures of cats, coronavirus-related news articles, school opening updates, and then one that stops me. Another friend has lost a parent.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">Five of my friends have lost their fathers during this pandemic. One lost his mom. We didn’t go to the funeral services, some of which have been postponed to a future date to be determined, presumably when things are back to normal again. Expressing sorrow and sympathy through phone calls, emails, and texts is not the same as showing up in person; it seems so shallow and inadequate. There are no sufficient emoji.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />When elderly people fall ill, it can turn serious very quickly. A common cold can turn into pneumonia. A fall can mean shattered bones. Whether they are long, slow farewells that stretch over years or sudden, unexpected passings, no one is ever really ready to lose a loved one.<br /><br />I think about mortality a lot these days. During this pandemic, one of my younger friends underwent chemotherapy for a rare, aggressive form of breast cancer. She was diagnosed mere weeks after giving birth to a beautiful baby girl. We celebrated <a href="https://www.mskatedecorates.com/">Kate</a>’s final chemo treatment with a surprise socially distanced parade, all of us lined along her driveway, street, and sidewalk wearing rainbow wigs like hers, in solidarity.<br /><br />Finding out about a friend’s loss through Facebook or Twitter amid photos of homemade baked goods and political rants diminishes the profound experience of mourning. For people who share their grief on social media, do our comments and tweets help keep them afloat?<br /><br />Today, during my morning news scroll, I read that <a href="https://www.bbc.com/news/amp/world-us-canada-53565996?fbclid=IwAR17evfXq5rzLqAaxsmY6zyFUQ7c_JIBXmAlbfRKKVRL01GTkFR5EWW5Bek">Tahlequah is pregnant again</a>. The gestation period for an orca is 15-18 months. I pray for her to carry her baby to term. I imagine her celebrating the birth in a tour of triumph, lifting her new calf up to see the sky, and then swimming alongside her child, traveling another thousand miles, light and liberated.<br /><script type="text/javascript">
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<br />
His hunger is constant. He snacks several times a day. Sometimes, he’ll have cereal, depositing the empty bowl in the kitchen sink afterward with a few Cheerios stuck to the sides. Sometimes, he’ll grab a fruit cup and a spoon, leaving sticky syrupy residue on the dining table. Sometimes, he’ll shake a mound of tortilla chips onto a plate and microwave it for a few seconds to have a warm salty snack. Sometimes, he’ll dump a tin of tuna into a bowl and add a handful of black olives. Sometimes, he’ll mix the tuna with pickle relish and spread it onto Ritz crackers.<br />
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We’ve been self-quarantined for 29 days now, and I spend large chunks of each day in the kitchen, cooking meals at the stove, loading the dishwasher, handwashing the wok and cast iron skillet, cleaning spills from the countertops and floors, taking inventory of the refrigerator and pantry, and wiping everything down.</span><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">Along with the snacks he prepares for himself, the sixth-grader has devoured an assortment of food I’ve made for him since the statewide stay-at-home order: stuffed peppers, a berry pie, red lentil soup, toasted pita with hummus, fish sticks, sloppy joes, bowls of pasta and meat sauce, banana bread with raisins, two loaves of pumpkin bread, fried rice, potstickers, lentil vegetable soup, baked cod, couscous, baked apples. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Tonight, during dinner, as he shoveled down spoonfuls of Spanish rice and ground beef, he turned to me and said, “What else can I eat? Could you make me a meatball sub?” He is always thinking about his next snack. He makes grocery wish lists: Lunchables, Oreos, Fruit Gushers, Capri Sun. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The other day, hungry and bored (because his family is so boring), he made three meal wheels, one for snacks (bread, chips, crackers, pretzels, almonds), one for dips (salsa, jam, ketchup, mustard, marinara sauce) and one for drinks (water, milk, orange juice). Each wheel also includes “you decide!” as a possibility. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Because he is always hungry, I am always thinking about food too. Tomorrow, we’re going to make Chinese dumplings together. We’ll sit at the dining table, filling flour wrappers with spoonfuls of ground chicken, ginger, soy sauce, and sesame oil. We’ll place them in the bamboo steamer and then lift them out with chopsticks when they’re finished cooking. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The sixth-grader will be ready to eat. </span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><br />
Read more stories on <a href="https://rawdatafalloutfromthecoronavirus.blogspot.com/">Raw Data: Living in the Fallout from the Coronavirus</a>.</span></div>Lisa Chiuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09750693135688849345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3465676704962896504.post-9408703522796114582019-09-17T18:57:00.000-07:002020-08-09T09:13:48.850-07:00Welcome, goodbye<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZlXyYBWdi_M/XcCAznIrxiI/AAAAAAAACKE/YoZX99FC5mMHoSvtPwHRSmKv5HHT9NqtQCEwYBhgL/s1600/PD%2BWelcoming%2BWeek.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1374" data-original-width="1431" height="307" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZlXyYBWdi_M/XcCAznIrxiI/AAAAAAAACKE/YoZX99FC5mMHoSvtPwHRSmKv5HHT9NqtQCEwYBhgL/s320/PD%2BWelcoming%2BWeek.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My essay on my family's immigration journey in <i>The Plain Dealer</i></td></tr>
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On our first day in the United States, my dad’s new boss at Case Western Reserve University welcomed us to Cleveland by taking us out for pizza at Geraci’s in University Heights. For our first American Thanksgiving, her family hosted us and served a feast of roast turkey and pumpkin pie.</span><br />
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Not all immigrants are greeted so warmly. Americans are divided now, as rhetoric of being a nation of immigrants has become talk of building a wall.</span><br />
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Our family’s journey to the United States began in the late ‘60s when my parents emigrated from Taiwan to Canada, where my dad attended graduate school and my sister and I were born. After my dad landed a position as a cancer researcher at CWRU, we packed up the car and drove five hours from Toronto to Cleveland. It was the summer after I finished first grade. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />
<a href="https://www.cleveland.com/opinion/2019/09/welcome-cleveland-newcomers-goodbye-to-a-place-at-the-heart-of-my-familys-immigration-journey-alison-chiu.html">Read my full essay on Cleveland.com</a></span></span>Lisa Chiuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09750693135688849345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3465676704962896504.post-16638768228743744532018-07-25T07:07:00.000-07:002019-11-04T12:10:56.966-08:00Sweet (and Sour) Sixteen<div class="postArticle-content js-postField js-notesSource js-trackedPost" data-post-id="48de87ee7306" data-scroll="native" data-source="post_page" data-tracking-context="postPage">
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My son turned sixteen this week. I don’t know if I’d call it Sweet Sixteen. Maybe Sweet and Sour Sixteen. The teen years have been rough on us. There has been eye-rolling, glaring, muttering, yelling, swearing. We’ve had words. We’ve had silence.<br />
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This summer, he has mostly been away from home, at various camp programs. It has been a nice break for us, giving us both some space after a challenging school year full of conflict and tension. </span><br />
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<a href="https://medium.com/@lisa_chiu/sweet-and-sour-sixteen-48de87ee7306">Read my essay on Medium</a>.</span>
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Lisa Chiuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09750693135688849345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3465676704962896504.post-58271725049275007162018-04-16T22:04:00.000-07:002018-04-16T23:41:17.317-07:00Democracy and diversity in actionTonight I attended <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OBRYzGGtc6c&feature=youtu.be&t=8m38s">a city council meeting and listened to nearly three hours of audience comments about a proposed Islamic Center</a>. It has been a controversial issue and a petition on change.org has garnered over 1,000 signatures in opposition of the center.<br />
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These are some of the comments on the petition I found disturbing:<br />
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<a class="link-block js-comment-link-intercept" href="https://www.change.org/p/city-of-solon-no-oversized-community-center-in-single-family-zone/c/728467416" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: block; outline-width: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;"></a><br />
<div class="mvxs" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 10px !important; margin-top: 10px !important;">
<div class="hide-overflow" data-_block="We are the United States of America!<br />#remember 9-11 " data-height="120" data-read_more="<span class="link type-weak js-read-more-text">Read more</span>" data-render="true" data-view="components/ellipsis" style="box-sizing: border-box; max-height: none; overflow: hidden !important; word-wrap: break-word;">
<a class="link-block js-comment-link-intercept" href="https://www.change.org/p/city-of-solon-no-oversized-community-center-in-single-family-zone/c/728467416" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: block; outline-width: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;"><span class="dotdotdot " style="box-sizing: border-box;"><br /></span></a></div>
<div class="hide-overflow" data-_block="We are the United States of America!<br />#remember 9-11 " data-height="120" data-read_more="<span class="link type-weak js-read-more-text">Read more</span>" data-render="true" data-view="components/ellipsis" style="box-sizing: border-box; max-height: none; overflow: hidden !important; word-wrap: break-word;">
<a class="link-block js-comment-link-intercept" href="https://www.change.org/p/city-of-solon-no-oversized-community-center-in-single-family-zone/c/728467416" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: block; outline-width: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;"><span class="dotdotdot " style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="color: #363135;">Muslims are required to follow Sharia and consider the Constitution beneath them bc they are MAN MADE laws. 80% of US Mosques and Islamic centers are funded by the Saudis, and they preach hatred of Jews and Christians. There is no place in our country for this type of hate.</span></span></a></div>
<div class="hide-overflow" data-_block="We are the United States of America!<br />#remember 9-11 " data-height="120" data-read_more="<span class="link type-weak js-read-more-text">Read more</span>" data-render="true" data-view="components/ellipsis" style="box-sizing: border-box; max-height: none; overflow: hidden !important; word-wrap: break-word;">
<a class="link-block js-comment-link-intercept" href="https://www.change.org/p/city-of-solon-no-oversized-community-center-in-single-family-zone/c/728467416" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: block; outline-width: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;"><br /></a></div>
<div class="hide-overflow" data-_block="We are the United States of America!<br />#remember 9-11 " data-height="120" data-read_more="<span class="link type-weak js-read-more-text">Read more</span>" data-render="true" data-view="components/ellipsis" style="box-sizing: border-box; max-height: none; overflow: hidden !important; word-wrap: break-word;">
<a class="link-block js-comment-link-intercept" href="https://www.change.org/p/city-of-solon-no-oversized-community-center-in-single-family-zone/c/728467416" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: block; outline-width: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;"><span class="dotdotdot " style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="color: #363135;">I'm signing based on the history of other countries. The Islamic Center is more than a building of prayer, but a strategy construction for jihad. </span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #363135;" /><span style="color: #363135;">If they came to America, let them become Americans or return to their home country.</span></span></a></div>
<div class="hide-overflow" data-_block="We are the United States of America!<br />#remember 9-11 " data-height="120" data-read_more="<span class="link type-weak js-read-more-text">Read more</span>" data-render="true" data-view="components/ellipsis" style="box-sizing: border-box; max-height: none; overflow: hidden !important; word-wrap: break-word;">
<a class="link-block js-comment-link-intercept" href="https://www.change.org/p/city-of-solon-no-oversized-community-center-in-single-family-zone/c/728467416" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: block; outline-width: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;"><span class="dotdotdot " style="box-sizing: border-box;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><span style="color: #363135;">#MAGA</span></span></a></div>
<div class="hide-overflow" data-_block="We are the United States of America!<br />#remember 9-11 " data-height="120" data-read_more="<span class="link type-weak js-read-more-text">Read more</span>" data-render="true" data-view="components/ellipsis" style="box-sizing: border-box; max-height: none; overflow: hidden !important; word-wrap: break-word;">
<a class="link-block js-comment-link-intercept" href="https://www.change.org/p/city-of-solon-no-oversized-community-center-in-single-family-zone/c/728467416" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: block; outline-width: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;"><span class="dotdotdot " style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="color: #363135;"><br /></span></span></a></div>
<div class="hide-overflow" data-_block="We are the United States of America!<br />#remember 9-11 " data-height="120" data-read_more="<span class="link type-weak js-read-more-text">Read more</span>" data-render="true" data-view="components/ellipsis" style="box-sizing: border-box; max-height: none; overflow: hidden !important; word-wrap: break-word;">
<a class="link-block js-comment-link-intercept" href="https://www.change.org/p/city-of-solon-no-oversized-community-center-in-single-family-zone/c/728467416" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: block; outline-width: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;"><span class="dotdotdot " style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="color: #363135;">We are the United States of America!</span><span style="color: #363135;"> </span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #363135;" /><span style="color: #363135;">#remember 9-11 </span></span></a></div>
<div class="hide-overflow" data-_block="We are the United States of America!<br />#remember 9-11 " data-height="120" data-read_more="<span class="link type-weak js-read-more-text">Read more</span>" data-render="true" data-view="components/ellipsis" style="box-sizing: border-box; max-height: none; overflow: hidden !important; word-wrap: break-word;">
<a class="link-block js-comment-link-intercept" href="https://www.change.org/p/city-of-solon-no-oversized-community-center-in-single-family-zone/c/728467416" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: block; outline-width: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;"><br /></a></div>
<div class="hide-overflow" data-_block="We are the United States of America!<br />#remember 9-11 " data-height="120" data-read_more="<span class="link type-weak js-read-more-text">Read more</span>" data-render="true" data-view="components/ellipsis" style="box-sizing: border-box; max-height: none; overflow: hidden !important; word-wrap: break-word;">
<a class="link-block js-comment-link-intercept" href="https://www.change.org/p/city-of-solon-no-oversized-community-center-in-single-family-zone/c/728467416" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: block; outline-width: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;"><span class="dotdotdot " style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="color: #363135;">I am uncomfortable with a Mosque in Solon.</span></span></a></div>
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<a class="link-block js-comment-link-intercept" href="https://www.change.org/p/city-of-solon-no-oversized-community-center-in-single-family-zone/c/728467416" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: block; outline-width: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">
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When I arrived at City Hall for the meeting, the parking lot was full and the room was packed, requiring an adjoining space to be opened up to accommodate the overflow. I've never seen the parking lot this full, even on Election Day. While I looked for a seat, a Chinese couple moved their chairs and invited me to squeeze in next to them. They spoke Mandarin to each other and their friends around them.<br />
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The meeting started with the Pledge of Allegiance. As I stood and looked around the room, I saw that the attendees were quite culturally diverse. It reminded me of a mini-version of San Francisco's Masonic Auditorium where <a href="http://lisa-chiu.blogspot.com/2010/09/pride-in-becoming-american-intensifies.html">I participated in an oath ceremony to become a naturalized U.S. citizen</a> years ago. </div>
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After we sat down, I heard a thwacking sound next to me. The man who scooted his chair over to make room for me was loudly slapping stickers onto his chest and forehead. They were white stickers that said "NO!!!" in red and blue. Behind me, other people were passing around sheets of stickers, peeling and affixing them to their clothes.</div>
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After a brief overview of audience comment procedures from the city's law director, one by one, residents took turns stepping up to the podium to share their thoughts about a plan for an Islamic Center in a residential area of single-family homes. </div>
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The first to speak was a member of the Solon Rotary Club expressing support for the center and attesting to the character and commitment to community service of one of the center's board members, Masroor Malik. </div>
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The next speaker was a woman who felt that the city did not inform residents about the proposed plan. Many of the residents opposing the center were immigrants, speaking with heavy accents. They expressed frustration that the city did not notify them about the proposal. They anticipated heavy traffic. They were worried about declining property values. A few were concerned about clearing trees and wanted to preserve wetland and green space. </div>
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Some of those opposed to the center emphasized that they were not opposed to having a mosque in the city; they just didn't want it in their back yard - literally. Many of them said they appreciated diversity but just did not want a "monstrosity" in their neighborhood. A few of the residents practically shouted into the microphone, expressing deep anger that was surprising and a bit scary.</div>
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Some of those who spoke in support of the center included area church pastors. One resident likened the situation to one his family faced when looking to build a Mormon church.</div>
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"For those who are uncomfortable with this, for whatever the reason might be," he said, "just think about the opposition - what that might be doing to divide our community more than it needs to be. We're all citizens of this town, this area, and we should be supporting each other as well as we can."</div>
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A few members of the Islamic Center's board spoke too, including Malik.</div>
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"It's somewhat disheartening that some people don't know about the project," he said, explaining that the board has been working with the city for a long time on the proposal. He offered to explain the project to anyone who had any questions about it. Other members of the center spoke too, inviting residents to meet with them to learn more. </div>
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After the audience comments, city officials stated that while some residents felt that the city did not properly inform them of the proposed plan, all policies and procedures were followed. A traffic study was completed also. </div>
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Finally, the mayor offered closing remarks, recalling that when he moved to the city 25 years ago, he was part of the first Jewish congregation here. After first meeting in the rabbi's house and then renting space for many years, the congregation built a synagogue in a residential area of the city. Members of area churches came over to welcome them. </div>
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"One thing that struck me was the outpouring of love and warmth that we found in this Solon community. The first people who came to welcome us were the Christian congregations - all the churches," he said. He expressed hope that the Muslim community would soon be able to say the same thing some day and feel welcomed too. </div>
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It was fascinating to hear so many opinions tonight expressed by so many voices. It was remarkable to see so many people at the city council meeting, and I wonder if we will see more civic activism regarding other issues. </div>
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For this particular issue, I understand the concerns the residents expressed about not being notified. But democracy requires an educated citizenry and we have to make sure we are informed and involved.</div>
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I am in favor of having an Islamic center in our city. <a href="http://lisa-chiu.blogspot.com/2006/01/friends-family-funeral.html">I have only been in a mosque once, for a funeral service</a>, and although I was an outsider, I felt welcomed. In every house of worship I have ever entered, regardless of religion, language or culture, I have found a place of peace and beauty, where people come together in faith and harmony. We need more places like that.</div>
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Lisa Chiuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09750693135688849345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3465676704962896504.post-75357098121963330112015-03-27T17:34:00.000-07:002018-09-30T10:40:37.386-07:00On being an Easter basket case<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-m3r7AWFO8yA/VRXQYZ-B4EI/AAAAAAAAAzM/vB80aGBVHWA/s1600/bunny-in-basket.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="http://www.webweaver.nu/clipart/easter/bunnies3.shtml" border="0" height="200" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-m3r7AWFO8yA/VRXQYZ-B4EI/AAAAAAAAAzM/vB80aGBVHWA/s1600/bunny-in-basket.gif" title="Easter Bunny" width="170" /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;">Even though I have lived in North America my whole life, I am still perplexed by certain American customs and traditions. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;">I've mastered most holidays, like Halloween and for the most part, <a href="http://lisa-chiu.blogspot.com/2014/02/valentines-day-is-for-white-people.html">Valentine's Day</a>. And I thought I knew Easter too, but I was wrong</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;">. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;">As th</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;">e daughter of Taiwanese immigrants who are not particularly religious, I grew up celebrating Christmas and Easter not as holy days, but mainly as American commercial holidays. For Christmas, our family exchanged brightly wrapped gifts, decorated a tree and hung stockings. My sister learned the true identity of Santa Claus when she caught my dad hurriedly stuffing McDonald's gift certificates into her stocking. For Easter, my sister and I embarked on indoor egg hunts, searching for foil-wrapped chocolate eggs my dad hid all around the house. When I was in high school, though, he was tired of the routine and instead of hiding a whole bunch of eggs, he half-heartedly plunked a single bag of chocolate eggs in one spot where it was easy to find - pretty lame, I have to say.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;">Anyhow, I have a few questions about Easter. I am a bit confused about the Bunny and the Baskets. I know that the Easter Bunny is kind of like the Santa Claus, except instead of depositing toys and treats into a stocking, he/she does it in a basket. I get that. But the baskets are meant for children only, right? Not for adults?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;">Today I was doing some Easter shopping with a friend and noticed that she was not just buying things for her children.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;">"Hey, what's going on?" I asked. "Are you buying Easter stuff for </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;">your husband</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;">?"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;">"Yes, we all get Easter baskets," she replied.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;">"What?! Easter baskets for everyone? For adults? Is this a </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;">thing</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;">?" I asked. As we strolled down the street of shops, flurries in the air turned into large snowflakes. It's spring in Cleveland, after all.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;">"I don't know if it's a </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;">thing</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;">," she said, "but in our family, we all get Easter baskets." Snowflakes landed on our heads as I looked at my friend quizzically. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;">This is my same friend who makes Valentine's Day a family celebration, not a day focused solely on romance. For Valentine's Day, she makes sure everyone in her family gets sweet treats. She is very inclusive in celebrating special occasions, including Canada Day. It's one of the reasons we are friends.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;">Still, I was puzzled. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;">From polling friends over the years, I have learned what typically goes into a child's Easter basket: at least one chocolate Easter bunny, plastic eggs filled with jelly beans, small toys or gadgets, books, maybe some socks. For some reason, at our house for my kids, the Easter Bunny also delivers toothbrushes and toothpaste. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;">So I understand what a child's Easter basket is all about. But what goes into an adult's Easter basket? The same thing? Does everyone in </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;">your</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;"> family get an Easter basket? If so, what's inside? </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 14.7839994430542px;">What does your family do for Easter?</span><br />
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Lisa Chiuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09750693135688849345noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3465676704962896504.post-9418223509647347602015-02-04T21:49:00.000-08:002015-02-04T22:00:55.753-08:00"Fresh Off the Boat" features fresh faces - finally<br />
"<i>It's been a long time...</i>" as Rakim and Timbaland would say.<br />
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It's been a long time indeed since I've seen people who look like me on prime time network TV.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://caamedia.org/wp-content/blogs.dir/1/files/2014/06/freshofftheboat_cast_1200_article_story_large.jpg?224ef9" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://caamedia.org/wp-content/blogs.dir/1/files/2014/06/freshofftheboat_cast_1200_article_story_large.jpg?224ef9" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meet the Huang family from "Fresh Off the Boat"<br />
Image credit: Center for Asian American Media</td></tr>
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Tonight was a milestone moment for me in watching the premiere of "<a href="http://abc.go.com/shows/fresh-off-the-boat">Fresh Off the Boat</a>," a sitcom featuring the Huangs, an Asian American family finding their way in Florida.<br />
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The show is based on the memoir of Eddie Huang, a Taiwanese American celebrity chef and hip hop aficionado. Huang has <a href="http://www.vulture.com/2015/01/eddie-huang-fresh-off-the-boat-abc.html">expressed some criticism of the show</a>, which I understand, yet I am still rooting for the show to be successful. I enjoyed reading his memoir and was looking forward to the show premiere, wondering how they would bring his story to life.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/9/94/Fresh_Off_the_Boat_-_A_Memoir_(book_cover).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/9/94/Fresh_Off_the_Boat_-_A_Memoir_(book_cover).jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image credit: Random House</td></tr>
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It was more than 20 years ago that we last saw a prime time comedy featuring an Asian American cast. "All-American Girl" starred Korean American comedian and actress Margaret Cho but was short-lived, canceled after only one season. At the time it premiered, I was a journalism graduate student and the editor of the university's Asian American magazine. I contacted the producers of the show to learn more about it and received a press packet asserting that "extra measures were taken to ensure the show's authenticity, including the hiring of two Asian American writers."<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/85444098@N00/15826750703" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Asian American Voice cover by Chiubacca, on Flickr"><img alt="Asian American Voice cover" height="320" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7323/15826750703_40f9346d30_c.jpg" title="" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Autumn 1994 cover of <i>The Asian American Voice</i></td></tr>
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I devoted the cover of our autumn 1994 issue to the premiere of the show and the university's Office of Asian American Student Services sponsored a viewing at a campus cultural center. Some students loved the show. <a href="http://www.csun.edu/mike-curb-arts-media-communication/journalism/taehyun-kim">Taehyun Kim</a>, an undergraduate student then and now a mass communications professor, attended the viewing and expressed appreciation for the Korean dialogue on the show. "It was hysterical!" he said.<br />
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Others felt uneasy.<br />
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"It's hard for me to watch this," said <a href="http://www.drelaynechou.com/">Elayne Chou</a>, a graduate student then who is now a psychologist and executive coach. "I have a lot invested in it."<br />
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One student questioned the name of the show: "I thought this was patronizing and placating. It's like saying to the mainstream - it's okay! We're just like you!"<br />
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Twenty years later, I am watching a show called "Fresh Off the Boat," which directly addresses cultural conflicts in its first two episodes. Young Eddie Huang, played by the talented Hudson Yang, wears a Notorious B.I.G. t-shirt to school and finds seemingly like-minded schoolmates to eat lunch with – until he opens his container of his mom's homemade noodles and is banished from the table. The show uses the word "chink" right off the bat. Wow.<br />
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So far, the show is covering a lot of familiar terrain for me - the hardworking Asian immigrant parents, the struggle to assimilate, the emphasis on academic achievement, the strange (but delicious) homemade lunches. Some of these experiences were quite painful for me growing up in the midwest, as one of a handful (if that) Asian American students in school. But I found myself laughing throughout the show. And I can't want to see more. </div>
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Did you watch the show? What did you think of it?</div>
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<br />Lisa Chiuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09750693135688849345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3465676704962896504.post-86981459853615429062014-07-11T21:41:00.000-07:002014-12-16T18:11:13.014-08:00Decision 2.0: LeBron is Back!LeBron James is back.<br />
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It seems like everyone in Cleveland has something to say about the return of the NBA star to northeast Ohio, including me. I wish I could say I am unequivocally thrilled he is coming back, but my feelings about the situation are, well, complicated.</div>
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I watched <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Decision_(TV_special)" target="_blank">The Decision</a>, the live ESPN television broadcast four summers ago, when King James told the world he was leaving the Cleveland Cavaliers to sign with the Miami Heat. Half an hour into the televised show, he announced the words Clevelanders would remember forever: "I'm going to take my talents to South Beach and join the Miami Heat."<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14.399999618530273px; line-height: 17.920000076293945px;"> </span></div>
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It felt like a punch to the gut. I cursed him, his plaid shirt, the Miami Heat and all things Cleveland sports-related. When Cavs owner Dan Gilbert wrote <a href="http://www.cleveland.com/cavs/index.ssf/2010/07/gilberts_letter_to_fans_james.html" target="_blank">his infamous letter to the fans</a> denouncing James and promising Cleveland an NBA championship, I was moved by Gilbert's passion (but bewildered by his font choice, use of caps lock and misuse of quotation marks). I declared on Facebook, "I am LeDone with Cleveland sports."</div>
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I wasn't angry that James chose to leave Cleveland. I was angry about the way he chose to leave. Breaking up with us on national television? It was humiliating. It was heartbreaking. My son, seven years old at the time, wanted to stay up to watch the show with me but it was past his bedtime. The next morning, I told Nico what LeBron had decided to do. Nico had been enamored of the NBA star and as a kindergartener, had even lobbied to <a href="http://lisa-chiu.blogspot.com/2007/07/baby-name-poll-vote-now.html" target="_blank">name his future brother LeBron James</a>. When told the bad news, Nico wailed and used the strongest language he had in his vocabulary then: "SHUCKS!"<br />
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So we donated Nico's LeBron Cavs jersey to Goodwill. We treated him like so many other Cleveland sports villains my husband and I grew up despising: John Elway, Michael Jordan, Art Modell, etc. We booed LeBron whenever we saw his face on TV.<br />
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But then.<br />
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The King decided to return. This time, instead of televising the announcement with great fanfare, he opted to make the news known through <a href="http://www.si.com/nba/2014/07/11/lebron-james-cleveland-cavaliers">an essay in Sports Illustrated</a>. Well, that's one way to score points with this writer/writing instructor. Bonus points for <strike>not using Comic Sans</strike> using a respectable font. The tone of the essay sounded sincere, humble, mature. Also, as someone who recently moved back to Cleveland after spending two years in California, I could relate to LeBron discussing leaving home and wanting to return. I was softening. Then, I read the last few words of the piece:<br />
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"<i>Our community, which has struggled so much, needs all the talent it can get. </i></blockquote>
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<i>In Northeast Ohio, nothing is given. Everything is earned. You work for what you have. </i></blockquote>
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<i>I’m ready to accept the challenge. I’m coming home</i>."</blockquote>
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That's when my eyes started leaking.<br />
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Welcome home, LBJ. </div>
Lisa Chiuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09750693135688849345noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3465676704962896504.post-58920258275201069842014-02-14T10:18:00.001-08:002014-02-14T10:18:51.734-08:00Valentine's Day is for White People?Today is Valentine's Day! Happy Valentine's Day!<br />
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<a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/4/42/Love_Heart_SVG.svg/645px-Love_Heart_SVG.svg.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/4/42/Love_Heart_SVG.svg/645px-Love_Heart_SVG.svg.png" height="182" width="200" /></a></div>
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So, quick question: Am I supposed to do something special for my kids today? Like a Christmas stocking or Easter basket sort of thing?<br />
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I always thought of this occasion as a school thing, not a home thing. Aren't you supposed to decorate shoeboxes with doilies, construction paper and glitter <i>at school</i>? And then pass out store-bought Valentine's Day cards - perhaps Star Wars themed - <i>at school</i>?<br />
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This all started when I called a friend who said she needed to run "Valentine's Day errands" this afternoon. Say what?<br />
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"But it's already Valentine's Day," I said.<br />
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"Yeah, but I wasn't ready. So now I have to go get some chocolates and supplies to make the boys their Valentines for when they come home," she said.<br />
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Huh? Parents making Valentines for their kids? I'm befuddled. I understand romantic couples celebrating Valentine's Day with dinners at fancy restaurants, champagne, chocolate-covered strawberries, diamonds, new cars and all that stuff you see on TV. And I know kids hand out Valentines at school. But are parents supposed to make special Valentines for their kids? I'm so confused I'm not even sure if I should be capitalizing Valentines and/or using an apostrophe. This whole thing is so weird to me.<br />
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I'm the daughter of Asian immigrants, so maybe I'm feeling that whole "<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/5324960-i-love-yous-are-for-white-people" target="_blank">I love yous are for white people</a>" thing. Plus, our family just celebrated Lunar New Year and the boys got their <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_envelope" target="_blank">red envelopes</a>, so can't they just take that money and buy themselves some candy?<br />
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What does your family do for Valentine's Day?<br />
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Lisa Chiuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09750693135688849345noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3465676704962896504.post-15879586189653021342013-12-09T14:35:00.003-08:002018-10-28T20:27:58.096-07:00Cleveland sports, the Ohio BMV and forward progress<div class="p1">
The process of registering my car in Ohio after moving from California has been a tale of misery, heartache, frustration and false hope. Growing up as a Cleveland sports fan has prepared me well for this emotional roller coaster.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://publicsafety.ohio.gov/img/ohio_pride_plate.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://publicsafety.ohio.gov/img/ohio_pride_plate.png" height="167" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'll get you, my pretty!</td></tr>
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The process is taking months. I've been to the Ohio Bureau of Motor Vehicles multiple times. I've phoned and faxed the Bank of America, who holds our car loan, even more times. I've asked, pleaded, cajoled, begged - all to get different answers from everyone I have encountered. I know I am not the first person to move from one state to another and attempt to register a car accordingly. But it sure feels like it.</div>
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At my last trip to the BMV, I was told that my husband needed to be present since both of our names are on the car loan papers. So on Saturday, my husband accompanied me to the BMV once again. The woman behind the counter asked us what color our car was. "Silver. I mean it used to be silver. Now it's really dirty from the snow and sleet. You know, the wintry mix and all," I replied, at the same time my husband merely said, "Gray".<br />
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Although we weren't able to complete Ohio registration for our car that day, we were able to walk out with a temporary tag. After leaving the BMV, Vic and I crossed a snow-slushy parking lot and made our way to our dirty-gray-silver car. I held the cardboard temporary tag above my head like a WWE championship belt and whooped. Vic told me not to celebrate prematurely. "It's not a touchdown yet," he said. "Don't be <a href="http://www.nfl.com/videos/buffalo-bills/0ap2000000148850/27-Leon-Lett-fumble-in-Super-Bowl-XXVII" target="_blank">Leon Lett</a>."</div>
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"I know that," I snapped. You have no idea what I've been through to get this far. I've actually made forward progress. I know it's not a touchdown. I'm just trying to get a first down."</div>
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Vic and I sat in the car, in the middle of a suburban strip mall parking lot on a cold, dirty-gray-silver Cleveland December afternoon and looked at each other, silently realizing what years of growing up as Cleveland sports fans has done to us. We are irreparably damaged.</div>
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</script>Lisa Chiuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09750693135688849345noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3465676704962896504.post-27287926333792407722013-06-16T23:26:00.000-07:002014-01-15T12:55:16.508-08:00Tribute to my tee ball team<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dqHCIT2BvNY/Ub6wwiNUdVI/AAAAAAAAAkA/07_BypyfF_I/s1600/TBallIndiansallhands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dqHCIT2BvNY/Ub6wwiNUdVI/AAAAAAAAAkA/07_BypyfF_I/s640/TBallIndiansallhands.jpg" height="350" width="536" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tee Ball Indians: the cutest team in the league<br />
Photos courtesy of Kelvin Li</td></tr>
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Dear Tee Ball Indians:</div>
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It's been a week since our Little League's closing ceremonies and I am still thinking about our team. The trunk of my car seems strangely empty and quiet without all of our team equipment inside, without the sound of bats and helmets clanking.</div>
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This was the first time I managed a team (OK, I did manage some intramural teams in grad school, including a pretty successful volleyball team and a horrendously awful innertube water polo team) and it was an unforgettable experience. </div>
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I hadn't planned to manage a Little League team. Last year, I had been an assistant coach for a tee-ball team but most of the time, I monitored the dugout and coordinated snack duty. This year, there was a shortage of managers so I was talked into leading a team, with the promise that I'd have great coaches supporting me. I was reluctant and fretted that everyone would learn weird baseball skills from me, kinda like this: </div>
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<iframe width="560" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/5c_onhzgvcY?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
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The league made good on their promise, though, and not only gave me three great assistant coaches (thank you, John, Nirav and Ramki!), but a whole team of wonderful families. </div>
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Tee ball Indians, your parents were energetic and enthusiastic and helped everywhere needed. Some of them shared their own baseball skills and coaching knowledge. One day, I enlisted one of the dads to help with coach pitch practice. I asked him to use the hard balls instead of wiffle balls so you all wouldn't be thrown off by the speed of the pitches. Almost immediately, his own son nailed him You Know Where with a hard line drive. Do you guys remember that? I'm sure he does.</div>
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Some of your parents served as base coaches and helped with awkward batting stances and throwing motions. Other parents helped keep the batting lineup organized and kids safe in the dugout, not easy to do with 11 five-year-olds! Many of them joined us in our raucous Freeze Tag warmup at practices. By the way, you guys never stayed in bounds when we played Freeze Tag - just sayin'. </div>
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Your parents took photos, invited friends and family to expand our cheering section at our Saturday games, erected a tent to keep our team cool on sweltering summer afternoons, and perhaps, most important, brought SNACKS! </div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jZjyQLurQ_0/Ub6wvrskb6I/AAAAAAAAAjs/J1VwstslK-Q/s1600/TBallIndiansHuddle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jZjyQLurQ_0/Ub6wvrskb6I/AAAAAAAAAjs/J1VwstslK-Q/s200/TBallIndiansHuddle.jpg" height="133" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tee ball Indians discuss game strategy.</td></tr>
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And let's talk about you, Tee Ball Indians! In the beginning of the season, you wore nametag stickers, but by the end, we all knew each other's names from loudly cheering at our games ("Here we go, Nolan, here we go!") week after week.</div>
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At first, many of you did not know what to do after hitting the ball off the tee. When told to run home, some of you ran from third base straight into the arms of your moms, never crossing home plate.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZgRO0pNGtGY/Ub6wwpBtiDI/AAAAAAAAAkE/m5fPfZD9VgU/s1600/TballIndiansNolanBattingStance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZgRO0pNGtGY/Ub6wwpBtiDI/AAAAAAAAAkE/m5fPfZD9VgU/s200/TballIndiansNolanBattingStance.jpg" height="133" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Later in the season - no more tee!</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9UCkx9KX-Hk/Ub6w4gMHaYI/AAAAAAAAAkQ/H3jyjFj2gzY/s1600/NolanTballIndiansAtBat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9UCkx9KX-Hk/Ub6w4gMHaYI/AAAAAAAAAkQ/H3jyjFj2gzY/s200/NolanTballIndiansAtBat.jpg" height="133" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Earlier in the season - hitting with the tee</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Some of you started off tentatively, while others swung wildly at bat. Halfway through the season, when we introduced coach pitch, you did well without the tee. You improved dramatically and I will be looking out for at least one of you to make the Majors!</div>
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<br /></div>
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I'm so proud of this team and how much you developed over the season. In the beginning, you often fidgeted, plucked and threw blades of grass at each other, sat down in the outfield and complained about playing certain positions. I remember when one of you, playing second base, showed his belly button to every opposing player coming his way. </div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5MT0Ki-y70M/Ub6wvkbLAXI/AAAAAAAAAj8/8kwkrAyshsA/s1600/TBallIndiansNolanHighFive.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5MT0Ki-y70M/Ub6wvkbLAXI/AAAAAAAAAj8/8kwkrAyshsA/s320/TBallIndiansNolanHighFive.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good game, Indians!</td></tr>
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By the end of the season, you were more focused and made some good plays. Did you hear how loudly we cheered for you? You hit the ball hard, ran fast and showed grit and determination. One of my favorite moments was when the sole girl on our team, spunky and unmistakable with her pink batting helmet and sparkly shoes, tagged someone out at first base. After she did it, she smiled sweetly and tickled him too!</div>
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With everyone's support, we met our goals of learning about baseball while having fun, being safe, and doing our best. Good job, Tribe!</div>
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Our league's closing ceremony was a lot of fun, even though it was a blazing hot day. I loved running the bases with you all, high-fiving all the other coaches and older kids in the league. I loved seeing you all running through the tunnels the big kids made for you with their arms overhead. I loved seeing the smiles on your faces when you held your trophies.</div>
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I enjoyed our team picnic afterward, when you presented me and the other coaches with the best coaches' gift I've ever seen. I'll always treasure the beautiful framed collage of baseball cards featuring all 11 of our Tee ball Indians players. Thank you for signing it with your name and team number. I'll never forget you!</div>
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Great season, Tee ball Indians! Way to go, Tribe!</div>
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</script>Lisa Chiuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09750693135688849345noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3465676704962896504.post-28694056170926718752013-05-09T02:02:00.000-07:002013-05-12T01:28:36.942-07:00Wanted: hometown heroes<i>Note: <a href="http://www.blogher.com/wanted-hometown-heroes" target="_blank">A version of this post was also published on BlogHer on May 9, 2013</a>.</i><br />
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I went to high school with Charles Ramsey, one of the men credited for helping to rescue Amanda Berry, Gina DeJesus and Michelle Knight, <a href="http://www.cleveland.com/metro/index.ssf/2013/05/tv_station_reports_berry_dejes.html" target="_blank">three Cleveland women who had been missing for 10 years</a>. <br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iR368PNiS8g/UYtep-eMJTI/AAAAAAAAAi0/YDlJTu3G6c8/s1600/ChuckRamseyBrushYearbook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iR368PNiS8g/UYtep-eMJTI/AAAAAAAAAi0/YDlJTu3G6c8/s320/ChuckRamseyBrushYearbook.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charles F. Brush High School yearbook<br />
Photo courtesy of Leigh Goldie</td></tr>
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We didn't know each other as students at Charles F. Brush High School, even though we graduated the same year. It was only after fellow high school classmates posted on Facebook this week that I learned our lives had intersected then. </div>
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Like many people who watched the media reports this week, I regarded Ramsey as a stranger. I marveled at the sight of this McDonald's-lovin' man recounting the extraordinary experience of holding a half-eaten Big Mac as he helped a woman kick through the door of the house she was trapped in. Although I didn't know Chuck Ramsey, something about him seemed so familiar. Maybe it was the way he wore his Cleveland Indians baseball cap in <a href="http://www.wkyc.com/news/article/298446/45/Charles-Ramsey-recounts-rescue-of-missing-Cleveland-women" target="_blank">one of his local TV news interviews</a>. Maybe it was his cadence and storytelling style.</div>
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Local and national media proclaimed Ramsey a hero. First, he was an Internet sensation trending on Twitter with his <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nZcRU0Op5P4" target="_blank">interviews autotuned and remixed</a>. Then, <a href="http://www.theatlanticwire.com/national/2013/05/charles-ramsey-has-rap-sheet/65025/" target="_blank">reports surfaced of Ramsey's criminal record</a> and domestic violence convictions. The media coverage was fickle, building him up one day and tearing him down the very next.</div>
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It reminded me of a passage from Cleveland writer Dan Chaon's short story "Prodigal":</div>
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<i>It doesn't matter what you do. In the end, you are going to be judged, and all the times that you're not at your most dignified are the ones that will be recalled in all their vivid, heartbreaking detail. And then of course these things will be distorted and exaggerated and replayed over and over, until eventually they turn into the essence of you: your cartoon.</i></blockquote>
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My husband, a native Clevelander and fellow Brush High School alumnus, and I observed the media storm from afar, thousands of miles away in California. We remembered the last time Cleveland was in the national news for a horrific crime story. Nearly four years ago, <a href="http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-504083_162-5496610-504083.html" target="_blank">Anthony Sowell made the news for killing 11 women and hiding their remains in and near his house</a>. This week, Ariel Castro was charged with kidnapping and raping three women in another Cleveland neighborhood where he reportedly ate ribs with neighbors like Ramsey.</div>
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In both cases, a man held women captive in his home and sexually abused them. In both cases, the media referred to the home as a "house of horrors". Both times, media reports depicted impoverished Cleveland neighborhoods. In this week's case, <a href="http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2013/05/07/missing-women-cleveland-brothers-arrested/2140359/" target="_blank">reports stated that Castro's house is valued at $36,100 and flagged for foreclosure</a>. </div>
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"They make Cleveland look so bad," my husband said to me. "It's embarrassing."<br />
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It was beyond embarrassing; it was outrageous. Yes, Cleveland is a gritty city in stark contrast to the sunny Silicon Valley suburb we live in right now. But it is our hometown; it is in our hearts. And it is incredibly frustrating to see Cleveland depicted as a place <a href="http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2013/05/08/castro-cleveland-children-imprisoned-kidnapped/2144863/" target="_blank">where people barbecue while women disappear and go missing for years</a>. </div>
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Clevelanders love deeply and fiercely. We actively seek heroes and causes to celebrate. So we rejoiced when the media named Chuck Ramsey a hero, even though he dismissed the notion and said, "I'm a human being. I'm just like you. I work for a living." </div>
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It's easy to see why national media swarmed to cover this story. There was drama, mystery, sex, violence, good guys, bad guys, tragedy, triumph. But eventually, the reporters will move on to other stories. In the quiet, there will be much healing that needs to take place. We will need to connect to each other more meaningfully to strengthen our communities. And in that process, maybe we can be our own heroes.</div>
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Lisa Chiuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09750693135688849345noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3465676704962896504.post-86105375878800562952013-03-19T01:35:00.000-07:002013-03-19T10:59:19.387-07:00Lean On: A Tribute to Susan Lewis<span style="font-family: inherit;">A lot of people are talking about Facebook COO Sheryl Sandberg's book <i>Lean In: Women, Work and the Will to Lead</i>. I've only read excerpts of it so far, but her words remind me of another extraordinary woman: my friend Susan Lewis.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--INRdYr__RA/UUeKxGPxOiI/AAAAAAAAAig/6-t-ztjLO8w/s1600/SusanLewis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="262" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--INRdYr__RA/UUeKxGPxOiI/AAAAAAAAAig/6-t-ztjLO8w/s400/SusanLewis.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Susan Lewis, friend and leader. <br />Photo courtesy of Tim Crowley</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Susan passed away on Friday after a hard-fought battle with cancer. She was a principled and focused leader with high expectations for herself and everyone around her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I met Susan five years ago when she came to work at Case Western Reserve University's College of Arts and Sciences as executive director of development and external relations. She had worked at the university years before and some of my colleagues knew her to be a take-charge, </span>no-nonsense<span style="font-family: inherit;"> boss. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">When Susan returned to the university in her new role, some of us didn't know what to make of her. She was too cool and composed. She was direct and demanding. I regarded her warily. As we got to know each other, though, we developed a rich working relationship and a cherished friendship. We shared our personal and professional lives. We brainstormed ideas for projects, we shared parenting stories, we chatted over countless cups of coffee and tea. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Susan offered valuable career advice and helped me navigate treacherous university politics. Her children were older than mine and she shared her wisdom and experience generously, especially the year my son's third-grade teacher seemingly had my cell phone number on speed dial. One thing I loved so much about Susan was that she was always willing to listen and always ready to help. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">As supervisors, we often discussed ideas about leadership. Both of us were committed to promoting the university's Women Staff Leadership Development Initiative. We wanted to build a robust community of women leaders. We wanted to nurture an environment that supported women in the workplace. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I often leaned on Susan for support and advice. One afternoon at work, I received the devastating news that a friend had taken her own life. Overcome by shock and sadness, I felt unhinged. The world no longer made sense to me and I was lost. In the middle of a dean's cabinet meeting, I burst into tears. Afterward, I told Susan how embarrassed I was that my emotions overcame me so publicly. She comforted me, reminding me that we are human, that we have emotions. Sometimes we lose confidence in ourselves, but we gain it back. "Fake it 'til you feel it again," she said. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">On another day, Susan came into my office smiling shyly. She asked me to review two essays she had written for a graduate program application. I was flattered that she sought my input on something so personal and meaningful to her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In one of her essays, Susan had written about her diagnosis of cancer in 2003, a life-changing event that suddenly derailed her successful career. Up until that point, she had defined herself by her professional accomplishments and career path. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">"I loved to do, to achieve, to solve, to
be active," Susan wrote. "I had fallen victim to the mindset of
valuing oneself as a reflection of what one does. The experience of cancer and cancer treatment opened my eyes
to the endless possibilities of one’s career, and enabled me to construct [a] more balanced and satisfying personal and professional life. In the end, it was my cancer 'milestone', and the opportunity to step outside my 'professional' self that
was truly the starting point on my journey to professional self-awareness."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Prior to reading her essay, Susan and I had not talked about her battle with cancer. I did notice the sun hats she wore even on cloudy days. Sometimes I overheard her chiding fair-skinned colleagues to cover their bare shoulders and arms and at least wear sunscreen. I had chalked it up to her motherly instincts, though, and not known she had fought skin cancer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Suddenly, Susan's tough exterior made sense. She was a warrior. For 17 years, up until her original melanoma diagnosis, she had worked for the Boy Scouts of America and been surrounded by men in a traditional top-down organizational structure. The experience had steeled her and motivated her to focus on organizational leadership as a personal and professional mission. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Susan wrote about her shift from focusing on her own goals to helping others achieve theirs:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Each day I interact with staff, faculty and alumni of CWRU and have come
to admire them as individuals; have come to be inspired by them as
contributing, engaged members of the greater community. It is through these interactions that I
have come to realize that I have a longing to learn and know something more –
about myself and the world around me.
Further, I have a longing to make a positive impact on the world around
me by providing leadership and direction for those, like myself, who are
searching for something more. </span></blockquote>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Susan was accepted into the program. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She thrived in it and loved to share what she learned. She was eager to put her knowledge and skills to work. She mentored younger co-workers and encouraged them to challenge themselves and accept roles with more responsibility.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">Two years ago, after I left the university and moved across the country, I kept in touch with Susan mainly through emails, phone calls and yes, Facebook. I learned that the cancer had returned</span>. I made a few trips back to Cleveland and Susan always made time to see me. We'd catch up over lunch and then we would hug as if we wouldn't see each other again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Over the next several months, her email updates announced bad news. The cancer spread rapidly to her liver and lymph nodes. Last<span style="background-color: white;"> April, she wrote, "My cancer journey continues tomorrow and I ask that you keep me in your positive thoughts. I was recently diagnosed with not one, but two brain tumors – a result of malignant melanoma legions."</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">In May, she reported happy news: "</span><span style="background-color: white;">I am thrilled that I will be collecting my diploma for my Master of Science in Positive Organization Development and Change from the </span><span style="background-color: white;">Weatherhead</span><span style="background-color: white;"> School of Management at </span><span style="background-color: white;">CWRU</span><span style="background-color: white;"> this Sunday! My parents, Tim and the kids will be there for me at graduation. This </span><span style="background-color: white;">MPOD</span><span style="background-color: white;"> program, and all that I have learned and experienced, has been a powerful force in my life...especially through relationships built with my classmates, and most timely with my life (health) adventures over the last 9 months. The focus on the positive, the appreciative lens, and the </span><span style="background-color: white;">openness</span><span style="background-color: white;"> to embracing change, all played a significant role in how I, and my family, have chosen to live this journey. I am truly humbled that this opportunity appeared at the time I needed it the most."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Susan leaned in. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">In her fight against cancer, she </span>endured pain, fatigue, treatment therapies and surgeries. In contrast to her first bout with cancer, when she fought the disease alone, this time, <a href="http://www.cleveland.com/sunpostherald/index.ssf/2012/05/olmsted_falls_resident_susan_l.html" target="_blank">she shared her experiences at A Gathering Place</a>, a support network of cancer patients. She <span style="font-family: inherit;">worked full time as long as she could. At home, also, she charged ahead, cheering on her husband during his long-distance races and her daughter during her soccer games. Last year, she stood by her son as he earned his Eagle Scout rank and started his first year of college. This year, she guided her daughter in her senior year of high school.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Susan allowed others to lean on her, and when she needed it, she leaned on us. She showed us the importance of sharing yourself, your dreams, your strengths and your frailties and letting others do the same. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">She leaned and she led. And we loved her for it.</span></div>
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Lisa Chiuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09750693135688849345noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3465676704962896504.post-63546939534507985282012-11-29T11:12:00.002-08:002012-12-12T16:55:28.698-08:00Parenting Anxiety Attack #95234: On Kindergarten RedshirtingOh no, I'm having a(nother) Parenting Anxiety Attack.<br />
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I just finished perusing my younger son's kindergarten class Share Journal, where you can see all the kids' writings and drawings about an item they chose from home to bring to their classroom. Reading the journal supports my belief that we should have waited a year for him to start kindergarten. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Jumbo Pencil<br />
Photo credit: Amazon.com</td></tr>
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Nolan started this year at age four and has found himself in a classroom with some kids who are seven years old. I was unsure about him starting this year since he has a late September birthday, is small for his age, is quite shy and has significant asthma and allergy issues. (Will he be too shy to speak up for himself around foods he cannot eat?) </div>
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On top of that, academic redshirting seems to be the norm in the area we live in, I've now learned, especially for boys. We live in Silicon Valley, in an area where the majority of parents are Asian immigrants who prize academic achievement. Many parents work at Google, Apple, Yahoo, etc. </div>
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My husband has a late September birthday too, though, and assured me that being small and young isn't a big deal. Besides being the last kid in his class to graduate from the fat pencil to the skinny pencil and requiring extra scissors practice at home, my husband did fine academically and caught up with his classmates in size in a few years.</div>
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<div>
This year, I made sure to volunteer in Nolan's classroom. I'm there one to two times a week and I have seen how he fits in with his classmates. Once we got past <a href="http://lisa-chiu.blogspot.com/2012/08/kindergarten-drop-off.html" target="_blank">the rocky first week of school</a>, he adjusted well. He's the smallest in his class but he seems to blend in with the others. I think he's the only one who needs his teacher's help putting on and zipping his jacket, but when it comes to the schoolwork, he is OK. Identifying and creating patterns seems to be his specialty.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Still, I started to feel alarmed again when we received a kindergarten-wide email to parents early in the year. It was in regard to Reading Racers, a program that develops children's ability to recognize and read simple words. Here's an excerpt from that email:</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333969116211px;">This program was not designed to be a contest but to differentiate to our </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333969116211px;">students' individual needs as our students are budding learners at all </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333969116211px;">different levels. Also, please remember that children are listening and </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333969116211px;">watching your reactions to their work. Comparing lists after school with </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333969116211px;">other parents could potentially be hurtful to individual students which </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333969116211px;">could affect their self-esteem and confidence when they see that some </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333969116211px;">students are at a different level than them.</span></blockquote>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.333333969116211px;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
Apparently, some of the kindergarten parents were getting competitive about Reading Racers. (Note to educators: Perhaps consider not calling it Reading RACERS if you don't want to encourage competition.) </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
And now we have the Share Journal. I was quite surprised to see that some of Nolan's classmates are practically writing novellas and illustrating their essays with beautiful, complex drawings. Nolan has very faint, wispy penmanship and writes short four-word sentences, e.g., "The dog went home." He draws very basic stick figures, often accompanied with hearts and balloons, no matter what the context.<br />
<br />
Look, <a href="http://lisa-chiu.blogspot.com/2012/01/ambivalent-tiger-mom.html" target="_blank">I really don't want to be a Tiger Mom</a>, but what am I supposed to do when I'm surrounded by them? I was raised by Asian immigrant parents myself, so <a href="http://lisa-chiu.blogspot.com/2011/01/chinese-parenting-right-or-wrong.html" target="_blank">I know the Tiger parenting style</a> very well. I don't want that for our family. But now I find myself second-guessing myself again. I'm tempted to inquire about Nolan repeating kindergarten next year. </div>
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Am I out of my mind? What would you do?</div>
</div>
Lisa Chiuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09750693135688849345noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3465676704962896504.post-89563356150524804452012-10-12T17:13:00.004-07:002014-12-16T17:30:46.300-08:00Hello To All the Children of the World<div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/85444098@N00/8066034757/" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="International Fair by Chiubacca, on Flickr"><img alt="International Fair" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8033/8066034757_61bf54485f.jpg" height="238" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hello, bonjour, buenos dias!</td></tr>
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<i>Hello, Bonjour, Buenos Dias</i></div>
<div>
<i>G'Day, Gutentag, Konichiwa</i><br />
<i>Ciao, Shalom, Dobre Dyen, </i><br />
<i>Hello to all the children of the world!</i></div>
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Last Friday, I chaired an event at my sons' school: the International Fair. It was a wonderful celebration of culture and community.</div>
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Several months ago, the school PTA president asked for volunteers to help plan the event this fall. I signed up, thinking I'd basically be organizing a giant potluck. (When you say International Fair, I say food: Fair! Food! Fair! Food!)<br />
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We moved to California last summer, so we are still relatively new to the neighborhood. At our former elementary school in Cleveland Heights, Ohio, <a href="http://lisa-chiu.blogspot.com/2008/03/soul-food-dinner-and-multicultural.html">we loved the Soul Food Dinner/Multicultural Night</a> that was held every other year. Food was a huge part of the evening, as it was essentially a massive potluck dinner in the cafeteria, flanked by parent-hosted country booths. The soul food selections were always fantastic: fried chicken, mac-n-cheese casseroles, banana pudding, sweet potato pies. The other cultural dishes were wonderful too. Latkes always disappeared fast, along with potstickers.<br />
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So at our new school this year, I agreed to chair the International Fair. And then I learned that it was more than a potluck. I worked closely with two other moms to plan the event. Juggling home and work responsibilities, we met weekly for the past month and a half to develop and execute a plan that included recruiting volunteers, lining up food and merchandise vendors, scheduling entertainment and coordinating publicity. Before this event, I had not met these two women, but by Friday evening, we had bonded. For weeks, we dealt with lots of logistical details together. Unexpected problems cropped up. Volunteers dropped out, food trucks broke down, performers needed special accommodations. We worked with some wonderful people along the way: committed parent volunteers and a supportive school staff, including our principal, Amanda Boyce.<br />
<br />
It had been years since the school last hosted an International Fair and in the past, the event had been held as a schoolday event only for students. This year, we hosted the event on a Friday evening and opened it to families and the larger community. With these changes, we didn't know if people would respond favorably. An hour and a half before the event opened, I stood alone on the school blacktop starting to worry. What if the food trucks don't come? What if the DJ doesn't come? What if no one comes?</div>
<div>
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Then, the first food vendor arrived: the charming <a href="http://www.elsursf.com/">El Sur food truck</a>. They showed up early to begin baking their incredible Argentinian empanadas. When they rolled up, I was so excited I shrieked and ran up to them like they were the <a href="http://lisa-chiu.blogspot.com/2012/10/food-truck-obsession-it-all-started.html" target="_blank">Ice Cream Man</a>. I directed them and the other <a href="http://lisa-chiu.blogspot.com/2012/10/food-truck-facts.html" target="_blank">food trucks</a> to park in a way that anchored a food court area. Then, the custodian arrived and set up tables and chairs, helping everyone all evening. Merchandise vendors came and set up clothing, jewelry and henna stands. Parent and teacher volunteers trickled in and set up various country displays.<br />
<div>
<br />
Everything was coming together and I happily ticked off items on my checklists. I was starting to breathe normally again. When the DJ arrived and successfully hooked up his equipment, I felt even more relieved. And then when the martial arts team showed up, looking not unlike the <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0sA_1nj18Po/TA6L1eMX2rI/AAAAAAAAARI/UavzFZe1luM/s1600/cobrakai1.jpg" target="_blank">Cobra Kai team</a> from <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0087538/" target="_blank">The Karate Kid</a>, I knew everything was going to be OK. (Seriously, I expected their leader, at any moment, to say, ominously, "Sweep the leg.")</div>
<div>
<br />
Families strolled in, many dressed in clothing from their native countries: China, India, Iran, Ireland, Japan, Korea, Phillipines, Romania and more. They practiced slapshots at the Canada booth, folded origami hats at the Japan booth, tried <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tinikling" target="_blank">tinikling</a> at the Phillipines booth. They sampled street food from the food trucks and the Indian <a href="http://www.chaatus.com/" target="_blank">chaat</a> vendor.<br />
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Everyone swarmed the dance and music performances. One of my fellow event coordinators, a dance teacher among other roles, choreographed and led a delightful kindergarten performance that attracted a large mob of overbearing kinder parents (me being one of them). In all the time I worked to plan this evening, I had forgotten that my own younger son would be performing. When he and all the other kinders sang "Hello to all the children of the world", everything about the evening came together. All the logistical details swarming in my head fell away and I just listened to these adorable youngsters singing to celebrate our international community.<br />
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It was a memorable night.</div>
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Lisa Chiuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09750693135688849345noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3465676704962896504.post-9249997512161652902012-10-10T15:10:00.000-07:002012-10-12T21:54:31.188-07:00Food Truck Facts<div class="p1">
This past weekend, I chaired <a href="http://lisa-chiu.blogspot.com/2012/10/hello-to-all-children-of-world.html" target="_blank">the International Fair at my sons' school</a> and enlisted some area food trucks to participate:</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MCeTBlYd1oc/T_6JYxmPrZI/AAAAAAAAA5M/f5aEvHYnjD0/s1600/20120705_182845.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MCeTBlYd1oc/T_6JYxmPrZI/AAAAAAAAA5M/f5aEvHYnjD0/s320/20120705_182845.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">El Sur's menu.<br />
Photo credit: I Left My Cart in San Francisco<br />
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<span class="s1">1) <a href="http://www.elsursf.com/"><span class="s2">El Sur</span></a></span></div>
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<span class="s3">The charming, elegant El Sur food truck showed up 90 minutes before the start of the event to begin baking their incredible Argentinian empanadas. Based on their recommendation, </span>I sampled the Traditional (hand-cut beef, onions, pimenton, hard boiled egg, olives, oregano) and Parisien (chopped prosciutto and country ham, scallions, chives, five cheeses) varieties. They were amazing - savory, melty and complex. El Sur also offered dulce de leche-filled churros, but I didn't sample that. Here's a review of El Sur from <a href="http://www.ileftmycartinsf.net/2012/07/el-sur-empanadas.html">I Left My Cart in San Francisco</a>.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://svfoodtrucks.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/mobowltruck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="187" src="http://svfoodtrucks.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/mobowltruck.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">MoBowl.<br />
Photo credit: Silicon Valley Food Trucks</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="s1">2) <a href="http://eatmobowl.com/index.html" target="_blank">MoBowl</a></span></div>
<div class="p6">
<span class="s3">I love these guys! They've been at our school events before and they are always a hit. For our family, I ordered the Five-Spice Pulled Pork rice bowl and the Umami Tofu brown rice bowl to share. The person behind me ordered Cheesecake Egg Rolls. </span>Here's a review of MoBowl from<br />
<a href="http://svfoodtrucks.com/2011/02/mobowl/" target="_blank">Silicon Valley Food Trucks</a>.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.thedosarepublic.com/wp-content/truck/tara7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="185" src="http://www.thedosarepublic.com/wp-content/truck/tara7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dosa Republic.<br />
Photo credit: Dosa Republic</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
3) <a href="http://www.thedosarepublic.com/" target="_blank">Dosa Republic</a><br />
These guys are awesome. Like MoBowl, these guys have been to our school events before. <span class="s3">I was too full to order any food from them but next time, I think I'd like to try their Old Delhi Lamb dosa made with Bombay potatoes, egg and halal lamb. </span>Here's a review of Dosa Republic from K<br />
<a href="http://blogs.kqed.org/bayareabites/2012/04/18/curry-up-now-wants-you-to-join-the-dosa-republic/" target="_blank">KQED's Bay Area Bites</a>.<br />
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In planning the event, I learned a few things about food truck operators:</div>
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1) They are business-savvy. </div>
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Successful food truck operators have carved out a distinctive niche for their offerings (e.g. cheesecake egg rolls) and need to make strategic decisions about when and where to show up. Before committing to your event and location, they need to know how many people are expected, what food preferences there may be and what other food options will be available.</div>
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2) They are social media-savvy. </div>
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The most popular trucks have well-designed websites with full menu info, photos and contact information. They are active on Facebook and Twitter. </div>
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3) They are community-minded. </div>
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The food truck operators I contacted were happy to help our school when I told them we required at least a 10% donation of their sales to our school PTA. One vendor even offered 20%.</div>
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4) They have technical difficulties sometimes.</div>
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One of the vendors we scheduled almost didn't make it to our event; it had to be towed from San Francisco two days earlier. Another truck had problems with its cooling unit and wasn't able to clear health code inspection in time for our event. </div>
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5) They are flexible and creative.</div>
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I supposed it's the nature of the business, but the food truck operators I spoke to were very accommodating. Knowing that the event I was planning was taking place at an elementary school, they each offered kid-friendly menu options.</div>
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No International Fair is complete without great food, so I'm so glad that El Sur, MoBowl and Dosa participated in our event. I'm already looking forward to the next one!</div>
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</script>Lisa Chiuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09750693135688849345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3465676704962896504.post-68452992683183557652012-10-08T12:31:00.000-07:002014-12-16T17:31:08.790-08:00Food truck obsession: it all started with the Ice Cream Man<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/63/Big_Gay_Ice_Cream_Truck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/63/Big_Gay_Ice_Cream_Truck.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 11.111111640930176px; line-height: 15.555556297302246px;">The original food truck. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 11.111111640930176px; line-height: 15.555556297302246px;">Photo credit: Wikimedia Commons</span></td></tr>
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I am a little obsessed with food trucks these days. </div>
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For me, it all started 30-something years ago with the original version: the ice cream truck. The first time I experienced the ice cream truck was the summer before second grade, after my family moved from Canada to the United States. One hot, humid afternoon, a truck came ambling down our street. Music blared - I think it was "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CZB6WXDuM1g" target="_blank">Turkey in the Straw</a>". My buddy Audrey grabbed my arm. "It's the ice cream man! Come on, let's go!" She saw the confused look on my face and directed me on what to do: go home, collect all the loose change in the house, beg parents for money if needed and then rush back to the tree lawn to wait for the truck to come by.</div>
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I did as instructed and met Audrey on the street curb. When the truck stopped in front of us, I was overwhelmed. Photos of various frozen treats plastered the entire side of the truck. It took all summer for me to sample the various options and determine my favorites: the orange sherbet Push Up, the Strawberry Shortcake bar, the Fudgsicle, the orange Creamsicle and the peanut-crusted Drumstick. (OK, I guess that isn't much of a short list.)</div>
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Anyhow, my cheap Asian immigrant parents were not fans of the Ice Cream Truck and tried to dissuade me from developing this new American summer addiction. They bought cheap tubs of Neapolitan ice cream (Three flavors for the price of one! On sale!) from the supermarket and hoped that would cure me. What they didn't understand was that it was the whole Ice Cream Truck Experience that was appealing, not the ice cream itself. The variety. The immediacy. My addiction got worse. Bolting up every time I heard the truck music, I had become one of Pavlov's dogs. My mom refused to give me any money to support my habit. Audrey and I started setting up lemonade stands. We sold greeting cards. We sold pens. We sold our toys. </div>
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Once, on a family trip to Taiwan, I heard a truck blaring music from loudspeakers. "ICE CREAM!" I squealed and leapt toward the door of my grandparents' house. My parents shook their heads. "It's the garbage man," my dad said.</div>
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Flash forward. Two years ago, my fabulous foodie friend <a href="https://twitter.com/ginaprodan" target="_blank">Gina P</a>. told me about a food truck making a stop near our workplace in Cleveland: <a href="http://www.dimanddensum.com/" target="_blank">Dim and Den Sum</a>. She invited me to meet her there for lunch. Dim sum + food truck + lunch with a friend = no brainer. The Asian fusion selections were yummy and I went back to work happy. </div>
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Then last year, we moved to the San Francisco Bay Area, home to a thriving Food Truck movement. At my son's elementary school back-to-school picnic, I was surprised and thrilled to see several food trucks parked on the school grounds. Options included Indian dosa, Chinese rice bowls, Mexican burritos and <a href="http://www.karascupcakes.com/" target="_blank">Kara's Cupcakes</a>. A food truck frenzy! Heaven.</div>
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This past weekend, I organized an International Fair event at my sons' school and went with the food truck model. Researching and contacting food trucks in the area, I gained considerable knowledge of area food trucks. For the past six weeks leading up to the event, I often had dreams of them. In one dream, I opened up a Taiwanese food truck called BoPoMoFo (a phonetic Chinese pronunciation alphabet) that offered Taiwanese street food (specializing in bubble teas and steamed sticky rice in banana leaves).</div>
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Now I'm obsessed with food trucks more than ever.</div>
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</script>Lisa Chiuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09750693135688849345noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3465676704962896504.post-23228889744702427832012-10-01T13:39:00.001-07:002012-10-01T14:25:39.309-07:00To Dad on the day of his retirementI just got off the phone with my dad this morning. It was the last time I'll dial his work number, as today is his last day of work at <a href="http://case.edu/">Case Western Reserve University</a>. He has had a long career there - 35 years working as a cancer researcher.<br />
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Over the years, we've had hundreds of phone calls while he was at work at CWRU. In junior high and high school, Dad would call every weekday afternoon to make sure we got home OK. "Remember to make rice," he would gently remind me and my sister.</div>
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For the past several years, Dad has talked about retiring and he would always say it was going to happen in a few months. And then, he'd say it would happen after a research grant ran out. And then after another research grant ran out. And then he'd casually mention that he was applying for new research grants. Finally, we stopped asking about his supposed retirement because we never thought it would actually happen. </div>
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When my dad told me today would be his last day, I was surprised. I asked him if he was happy about retiring and starting a new chapter in his life. He was quiet. I thought he might feel liberated and excited to plan new adventures, but instead, he seemed rather sad. I should have understood why.</div>
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Looking back, I think about everything my father's career provided for our family. His job led us to move from Canada to the United States, allowing us a clear path to permanent residence and, eventually, American citizenship. I remember when we first moved to Cleveland, Ohio on a cloudy gray day. My dad's supervisor took us out for pizza at Geraci's, where I tasted anchovies for the first time. We settled into a rented duplex in Cleveland Heights on a leafy street with lots of kids my age. </div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad and a dinosaur at the Cleveland Museum of Natural History</td></tr>
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Dad's job led us to lots of time spent at University Circle: art lessons and exhibitions at the Cleveland Museum of Art, trips to see dinosaur bones at the Cleveland Museum of Natural History, music recitals at The Music Settlement and the Cleveland Institute of Music. My sister and I loved visiting Dad's lab and examining the setup and equipment, especially the Geiger counter, centrifuge and microscope. Sometimes, he would bring home toys for us: test tubes, pipettes, Petri dishes and colored masking tape. </div>
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The most valuable benefit of Dad's job, undoubtedly, was the remarkable undergraduate education I received at CWRU. Admittedly, as a high school senior, I felt a little disappointed knowing I would be staying so close to home for college. I took it for granted how lucky I was to have a free college education. Dad didn't. </div>
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One day during my sophomore year, he called me at my dorm room. Even though we were both on campus, we rarely made plans to get together. He summoned me to meet for lunch in the hospital atrium, where we had a pointed discussion about my subpar grades that semester. All my life, <a href="http://lisa-chiu.blogspot.com/2011/01/mother-martyr.html">my mom has been the Tiger parent</a> in the family. Dad has been pretty selective about his <a href="http://lisa-chiu.blogspot.com/2011/01/chinese-parenting-right-or-wrong.html">Tiger parent</a> moments. That was one of them.</div>
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It took a while, but eventually, I got serious about my studies as an English major. I found wonderful faculty mentors who encouraged me to become a writer. I took a class, The Immigrant Experience, that deeply resonated with me. I felt blessed to be part of such a <a href="http://lisa-chiu.blogspot.com/2012/05/starry-skies.html">culturally rich CWRU community</a>.<br />
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On the day I graduated from CWRU, Dad was flying back from a work conference. We were hoping he would make it back in time for him to get on stage to award me my diploma, but it didn't happen. He did get there in time to change into his cap and gown, though, and it was really great to see him afterward, both of us wearing our graduation robes.</div>
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Ten years after I graduated, I started working on campus at CWRU. Following my dad's footsteps, I brought my kids to work sometimes and took them to various campus activities. Some of my favorite campus memories are of three generations of our family participating in university traditions. When my oldest son was four, my mom, dad and I took him to Halloween at the Farm, an annual campus event with a giant bonfire, live music, fall foods and pumpkin carving. </div>
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Five years ago, I called my dad and summoned him to meet in the hospital atrium. We had a quick, excited exchange before I had to dash off for my scheduled c-section. Dad went off to work in his lab. At lunch time, he came to my hospital room to meet his second grandchild. And then he went back to work. After work, he and my mom returned again, this time with flowers (and homemade Chinese food).</div>
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CWRU is a special place for our family. It's where I earned my undergraduate degree, my husband earned both his undergraduate and graduate degrees, and his father earned his graduate degree. It's where I worked for eight years and made lots of great friends. It's home for us. For the first time in 35 years, we will not have a single family member studying or working on campus any more. Dad was the first and the last. </div>
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Well done, Dad! We are so proud of you!</div>
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Lisa Chiuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09750693135688849345noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3465676704962896504.post-9462945463816968502012-08-29T16:03:00.000-07:002012-08-29T16:16:35.648-07:00Kindergarten Drop-Off <div class="p1" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
I'm finally feeling a little better about kindergarten.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/85444098@N00/7890481024/" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Kissing hand heart by Chiubacca, on Flickr"><img alt="Kissing hand heart" height="400" src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8322/7890481024_ec91827c1b.jpg" width="293" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The kissing hand doesn't work, Mom!</span></td></tr>
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Today was the first day that Nolan didn't bawl his eyes out during drop-off. Last week was pretty rough. Nolan's <a href="http://lisa-chiu.blogspot.com/2012/08/kindergarten-and-kissing-hands.html">first day of kindergarten</a> was emotional, as expected. But the next day, the day after that, and the rest of the week? Even more gut-wrenching. Every morning, Nolan woke up wailing, "I don't want to go to school!" Every night, his last words at bedtime were, "I don't want to go to school!"</div>
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Nolan was the only kid in his class who cried at drop-off. His older brother was quite different at this age. Nico never wanted anyone to see him cry. Whenever he felt sad but knew other people were nearby, Nico would quickly pull himself together and wipe his face with his sleeve, saying, "I don't want anyone to see my tears." Nolan, on the other hand, seems to want everyone to see him cry - and the louder the better. Other parents looked at me sympathetically every morning as he carried on, clinging to me.</div>
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All last week, Nolan sobbed and said he wanted to stay home with me. When I said I had to go to yoga class, he said he wanted to learn yoga too. When I said I had to buy groceries, he said he wanted to help me. When I said I needed to work, he said he would keep me company. He sobbed until he hiccuped, gasping, "I - don't - want - to - go - to - school. I'm so scaaaaaaared!" I pointed to the tiny heart I drew on his hand for him to look at during the day when he felt sad. "It doesn't work, Mom!" he cried. "I still miss you so badly!" That was the precise moment when my heart shattered.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I started to second-guess our decision to enroll Nolan in kindergarten this year. He was close to the age cutoff and I had seriously considered waiting another year before enrolling him. Some of our friends have </span><a href="http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-18560_162-57390128/redshirting-holding-kids-back-from-kindergarten/]" style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">delayed their children's kindergarten start</a><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> by a year, and i thought it might make sense for Nolan too. He's young, he's shy, he's small. Also, we live in an </span><a href="http://lisa-chiu.blogspot.com/2012/01/ambivalent-tiger-mom.html" style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">area where academics are highly emphasized</a><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> and I'm surrounded by Tiger Moms. Are we setting him up to fail by launching him into the den too early?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Just when I started thinking about an exit strategy for de-enrolling him from kindergarten and putting him back in preschool, we hit a turning point. Yesterday morning, Nolan cried, as usual, and his teacher led him by the hand into the classroom. She said they would work on their self-portraits and told him, "Today, we're going to put clothes on them!" She whispered to me, "Don't worry. Once he's inside, he's fine!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Nolan must have had a great day because after school, he told me, "I might not be sad tomorrow." This morning, he woke up and said, "I'm not going to be scared today." As we walked to his classroom, he reiterated his feelings: "Maybe on other days I might be sad but not today." At his classroom door, he asked me to draw a tiny heart on his hand, which has now become part of our daily routine, so I colored one on his left hand with a pink highlighter. The bell rang so we ran out of time before he could draw one on my hand. I looked at him to see if he would fall apart. To my surprise, he didn't. He said, "Don't worry, Mommy. I'll draw a heart for you later. I'll give you lots of hugs and kisses and love after school." Then he hitched up his dinosaur backpack, got in line with his classmates and walked into his classroom, blowing kisses at me with both hands. He was dry-eyed. I was not. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Nolan's first day of kindergarten" height="400" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7279/7836723268_8e1fcc8126.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="" width="299" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Nolan holds his kissing hand</span></span></td></tr>
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My baby started kindergarten this week.</div>
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Nolan's first day of school started out kinda shaky. He barely touched his breakfast of oatmeal with fresh strawberries. He was restless and defiant. He had to be pried from the elaborate setup he built of Thomas the Tank Engine tracks and Legos. </div>
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I dressed him in his favorite dinosaur shirt and helped him put on his brand-new dinosaur backpack. I told him what I packed for his lunch, which included a special treat - a blueberry fruit strip. He stared at me stone-faced.</div>
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When I asked him to pose for a photo with his brother <a href="http://nicothomas.blogspot.com/">Nico</a>, who was starting fifth grade, he refused. My husband and I reminded him that he and his brother would finally be in the same school together and how exciting it was! He said he wanted to go back to preschool.</div>
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Before we left for school, I sat down with Nolan and reminded him of his first day of preschool. "Remember when I drew that little heart on your hand? So if you were sad and missed me, you could look at the heart and remember that I love you?" He nodded. I drew a little red heart on his left hand. "Could you draw a heart on my hand so I can look at it when I miss you today?" I asked him. He took the marker and drew a little heart on my left hand. We kissed each others' little red hearts and walked out the door, hand in hand.</div>
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Surprisingly, we were the first to arrive at his classroom. Nolan's teacher had set up a table outside with nametags of all the students. Nolan found his and I helped him stick it to his shirt. The other kids arrived and then I started feeling anxious too. My little guy was much smaller than some of his classmates, as I predicted. Nolan is small for his age and has a late birthday that just made the age cutoff. Also, there seems to be a trend toward <a href="http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-18560_162-57390128/redshirting-holding-kids-back-from-kindergarten/]">academic redshirting</a>, particularly with boys. </div>
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I've been having a hard time letting go of all the hangups I have about Nolan and kindergarten. I need to accept the fact that Nolan may well be the youngest, smallest kid in his class. I have to let go of the idea that he and Nico are not going to elementary school together in Ohio, as I had long envisioned. He will not have the <a href="http://www.blogger.com/[http://lisa-chiu.blogspot.com/2009/06/teachers-who-inspire.html">great teachers Nico had</a> in Cleveland Heights. But it's still hard to let go of these dreams. When Nico had started kindergarten, I was pregnant with Nolan. Nico's teacher was fantastic (her name - no joke - is Mrs. Miracle) and I had hoped that someday Nolan would have her as a kindergarten teacher too.<br />
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I need to let go of the idea that Nolan must have all the exact same happy experiences his older brother has had. Besides, Nolan has had his own share of great teachers too. Just like with his brother, Nolan's day care and preschool teachers have all been wonderful and each one has simply adored him. We are lucky that both boys have always had caring, nurturing teachers.</div>
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So anyway, as the other kindergarteners and their parents arrived, I saw that they looked nervous and excited too. There were lots of fancy cameras and iPhones on the scene. We buzzed about taking photos and introducing ourselves. Finally, the bell rang and the teacher came out. I had heard great things about her already and if I had to conjure up a dream teacher for Nolan, it would look just like her.</div>
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The teacher had the kids line up to enter the classroom. As they walked toward the door, Nolan waved and blew kisses at me. All of us parents tried to follow the kids into the room and had to be shooed out. </div>
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I cried and had to look at the tiny red heart on my hand.</div>
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</script>Lisa Chiuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09750693135688849345noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3465676704962896504.post-38552196788647475462012-07-20T23:39:00.000-07:002012-07-23T13:29:06.388-07:00Birth(day) of a blogger - and a short diatribe about Comic SansToday, my first-born child turned 10 years old. <span style="background-color: white;">Happy birthday to my amazing son, Nico! </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This blogger loves pancakes</td></tr>
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The past decade has flown by and I can't believe my shrieking baby has grown into a thoughtful tweenager. Who is this long-limbed, floppy-haired, iPod-toting guy who <a href="http://lisa-chiu.blogspot.com/2012/07/deodorant-for-tweens-decision.html">now wears deodorant</a>? What happened to my hippo-toothed chunk-a-lunk? </div>
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For the past several weeks, Nico felt anxious about his impending birthday. He was dreading his birthday (except for the gifts). He was really sad about leaving the single-digit years. This week, though, he perked up and decided to embrace the double-digit milestone. </div>
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Today, Nico started <a href="http://nicothomas.blogspot.com/2012/07/top-10-memories-of-my-first-10-years.html">his own blog</a> with his first post describing his favorite memories from the past 10 years. <span style="background-color: white;">People, including my husband, assumed I helped him write it. Actually, I didn't, really. I gave him some very minor proofreading notes (e.g. spelling "tumor" instead of "tomber"), but kept my comments spare. Nico has always enjoyed writing and has had great teachers who have nurtured, supported and challenged him. I wanted to encourage him too.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">If anything, my biggest suggestion to Nico was changing the font. Originally, he had used <a href="http://www.mcsweeneys.net/articles/im-comic-sans-asshole">Comic Sans</a>, and if you know me at all, you know I couldn't have let that go. So </span><span style="background-color: white;">I went into</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><a href="http://blogs.wsj.com/dailyfix/2010/07/09/lebron-james-and-the-revenge-of-comic-sans/">a little thing about Cleveland Cavaliers owner Dan Gilbert and his unfortunate use of the font</a><span style="background-color: white;">. And</span><span style="background-color: white;"> I may or may not have spouted a wildly distorted version of C.S. Lewis' quote: "When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up." My version was more like, "When you become 10 years old, you put away childish fonts. Period." </span></div>
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Anyhow, enough about Comic Sans. I am so proud of Nico for launching his blog and sharing his views with the world!</div>Lisa Chiuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09750693135688849345noreply@blogger.com0