On misogyny, racism and gun violence

I've had a severe case of emotional whiplash in the last day and a half. I learned about the eight people killed in Atlanta shootings after a busy day where I had tuned out news and social media. 

Before I checked the news that evening, I was having a great night with two virtual book launches and a phone call with a dear friend. The first book launch event celebrated the debut novel of one of my favorite local writing instructors and included some magic psychic poetry. Right after that, I attended another Zoom book launch to celebrate a friend's debut cookbook, which included a fun cooking demonstration. And then, I had a catch-up phone chat with yet another writer friend to discuss a collaborative storytelling project she is leading. It was a night to celebrate inspiring women sharing their voices, stories, and recipes.

And then I checked Twitter.

I don't know how to describe how I feel. Distraught? Outraged? Exhausted? Yes. 

Is it the misogyny? Is it the racism? Is it the gun violence? Yes. 

Minutes before the Georgia shootings, Stop AAPI Hate released a report that there have been 3,800 anti-Asian incidents in the past year. 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. 

Misogyny and racism are not mutually exclusive. 

The AAPI women I know understand this. We are accustomed to being seen as perpetual foreigners and asked "Where are you from? No, really, 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. 

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.

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. 

Some people, especially other BIPOC friends, have checked in on me and asked how they can support the AAPI community right now.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. 

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. 

We need solidarity. 

We need words and we also need action. 

We need people to speak up and stand up, not just for us but for every victim of injustice. 

Neighborhood Voices

I am honored and proud to be among the writers included in

Neighborhood Voices, a city-wide writing anthology project produced by Literary Cleveland and the Cleveland Public Library. 

For this anthology, I wrote a memoir piece, "Can Understand, Cannot Speak," 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. 

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 finding fellowship at a Sunday barbecue in Mount Pleasant, shopping for produce at West Side Market alongside Dennis Kucinich, photographing the sights of University Circle, and imagining a future without violence in Glenville.

Welcome, goodbye

My essay on my family's immigration journey in The Plain Dealer

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.

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.

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. 

Read my full essay on Cleveland.com

Democracy and diversity in action

Tonight I attended a city council meeting and listened to nearly three hours of audience comments about a proposed Islamic Center. It has been a controversial issue and a petition on change.org has garnered over 1,000 signatures in opposition of the center.

These are some of the comments on the petition I found disturbing:

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.

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. 
If they came to America, let them become Americans or return to their home country.

#MAGA

We are the United States of America! 
#remember 9-11 

I am uncomfortable with a Mosque in Solon.

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.

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 I participated in an oath ceremony to become a naturalized U.S. citizen years ago. 

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.

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. 

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. 

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. 

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.

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.

"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."

A few members of the Islamic Center's board spoke too, including Malik.

"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. 

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. 

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. 

"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. 

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.  

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.

I am in favor of having an Islamic center in our city. I have only been in a mosque once, for a funeral service, 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.

"Fresh Off the Boat" features fresh faces - finally

"It's been a long time..." as Rakim and Timbaland would say.

It's been a long time indeed since I've seen people who look like me on prime time network TV.

Meet the Huang family from "Fresh Off the Boat"
Image credit: Center for Asian American Media

Tonight was a milestone moment for me in watching the premiere of "Fresh Off the Boat," a sitcom featuring the Huangs, an Asian American family finding their way in Florida.

The show is based on the memoir of Eddie Huang, a Taiwanese American celebrity chef and hip hop aficionado. Huang has expressed some criticism of the show, 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.

Image credit: Random House

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."

Autumn 1994 cover of The Asian American Voice

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. Taehyun Kim, 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.

Others felt uneasy.

"It's hard for me to watch this," said Elayne Chou, a graduate student then who is now a psychologist and executive coach. "I have a lot invested in it."

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!"

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.

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. 

Did you watch the show? What did you think of it?

Tribute to my tee ball team

Tee Ball Indians: the cutest team in the league
Photos courtesy of Kelvin Li

Dear Tee Ball Indians:

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.

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. 

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: 

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. 

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.

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'. 

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! 

Tee ball Indians discuss game strategy.

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.

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.

Later in the season - no more tee!

Earlier in the season - hitting with the tee

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!

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. 

Good game, Indians!

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!

With everyone's support, we met our goals of learning about baseball while having fun, being safe, and doing our best. Good job, Tribe!

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.

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!

Great season, Tee ball Indians! Way to go, Tribe!

Wanted: hometown heroes

Note: A version of this post was also published on BlogHer on May 9, 2013.

I went to high school with Charles Ramsey, one of the men credited for helping to rescue Amanda Berry, Gina DeJesus and Michelle Knight, three Cleveland women who had been missing for 10 years.

Charles F. Brush High School yearbook
 Photo courtesy of Leigh Goldie

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. 

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 one of his local TV news interviews. Maybe it was his cadence and storytelling style.

Local and national media proclaimed Ramsey a hero. First, he was an Internet sensation trending on Twitter with his interviews autotuned and remixed. Then, reports surfaced of Ramsey's criminal record and domestic violence convictions. The media coverage was fickle, building him up one day and tearing him down the very next.

It reminded me of a passage from Cleveland writer Dan Chaon's short story "Prodigal":

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.

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, Anthony Sowell made the news for killing 11 women and hiding their remains in and near his house. 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.

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, reports stated that Castro's house is valued at $36,100 and flagged for foreclosure. 

"They make Cleveland look so bad," my husband said to me. "It's embarrassing."

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 where people barbecue while women disappear and go missing for years. 

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." 

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.

Lean On: A Tribute to Susan Lewis

A lot of people are talking about Facebook COO Sheryl Sandberg's book Lean In: Women, Work and the Will to Lead. I've only read excerpts of it so far, but her words remind me of another extraordinary woman: my friend Susan Lewis.

Susan Lewis, friend and leader.
Photo courtesy of Tim Crowley

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.

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, no-nonsense boss. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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.

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. 

"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."

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.

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. 

Susan wrote about her shift from focusing on her own goals to helping others achieve theirs:

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.  

Susan was accepted into the program. 

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.

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. 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. 

Over the next several months, her email updates announced bad news. The cancer spread rapidly to her liver and lymph nodes. Last 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." 

In May, she reported happy news: "I am thrilled that I will be collecting my diploma for my Master of Science in Positive Organization Development and Change from the Weatherhead School of Management at CWRU this Sunday! My parents, Tim and the kids will be there for me at graduation. This MPOD 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 openness 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."

Susan leaned in. In her fight against cancer, she endured pain, fatigue, treatment therapies and surgeries. In contrast to her first bout with cancer, when she fought the disease alone, this time, she shared her experiences at A Gathering Place, a support network of cancer patients. She 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.

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. 

She leaned and she led. And we loved her for it.

Parenting Anxiety Attack #95234: On Kindergarten Redshirting

Oh no, I'm having a(nother) Parenting Anxiety Attack.

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. 

The Jumbo Pencil
Photo credit: Amazon.com

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?) 

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. 

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.

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 the rocky first week of school, 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.

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:

This program was not designed to be a contest but to differentiate to our students' individual needs as our students are budding learners at all different levels. Also, please remember that children are listening and watching your reactions to their work. Comparing lists after school with other parents could potentially be hurtful to individual students which could affect their self-esteem and confidence when they see that some students are at a different level than them.

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.)  

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.

Look, I really don't want to be a Tiger Mom, but what am I supposed to do when I'm surrounded by them? I was raised by Asian immigrant parents myself, so I know the Tiger parenting style 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. 

Am I out of my mind? What would you do?

Hello To All the Children of the World

Hello, bonjour, buenos dias!

Hello, Bonjour, Buenos Dias

G'Day, Gutentag, Konichiwa
Ciao, Shalom, Dobre Dyen, 
Hello to all the children of the world!

Last Friday, I chaired an event at my sons' school: the International Fair. It was a wonderful celebration of culture and community.

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!)

We moved to California last summer, so we are still relatively new to the neighborhood. At our former elementary school in Cleveland Heights, Ohio, we loved the Soul Food Dinner/Multicultural Night 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.

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.

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?

Then, the first food vendor arrived: the charming El Sur food truck. 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 Ice Cream Man. I directed them and the other food trucks 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.

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 Cobra Kai team from The Karate Kid, I knew everything was going to be OK. (Seriously, I expected their leader, at any moment, to say, ominously, "Sweep the leg.")

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 tinikling at the Phillipines booth. They sampled street food from the food trucks and the Indian chaat vendor.

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.

It was a memorable night.

Food Truck Facts

This past weekend, I chaired the International Fair at my sons' school and enlisted some area food trucks to participate:

El Sur's menu.
Photo credit: I Left My Cart in San Francisco

1) El Sur

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, 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 I Left My Cart in San Francisco.

MoBowl.
Photo credit: Silicon Valley Food Trucks

2) MoBowl

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. Here's a review of MoBowl from
Silicon Valley Food Trucks.

Dosa Republic.
Photo credit: Dosa Republic

3) Dosa Republic
These guys are awesome. Like MoBowl, these guys have been to our school events before. 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. Here's a review of Dosa Republic from K
KQED's Bay Area Bites.

In planning the event, I learned a few things about food truck operators:

1) They are business-savvy. 

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.

2) They are social media-savvy. 

The most popular trucks have well-designed websites with full menu info, photos and contact information. They are active on Facebook and Twitter. 

3) They are community-minded. 

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%.

4) They have technical difficulties sometimes.

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. 

5) They are flexible and creative.

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.

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!

Food truck obsession: it all started with the Ice Cream Man

The original food truck. 
Photo credit: Wikimedia Commons

I am a little obsessed with food trucks these days. 

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 "Turkey in the Straw". 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.

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.)

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. 

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.

Flash forward. Two years ago, my fabulous foodie friend Gina P. told me about a food truck making a stop near our workplace in Cleveland: Dim and Den Sum. 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. 

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 Kara's Cupcakes. A food truck frenzy! Heaven.

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).

Now I'm obsessed with food trucks more than ever.

To Dad on the day of his retirement

I 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 Case Western Reserve University. He has had a long career there - 35 years working as a cancer researcher.

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.

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. 

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.

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. 

Dad and a dinosaur at the Cleveland Museum of Natural History

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. 

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. 

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, my mom has been the Tiger parent in the family. Dad has been pretty selective about his Tiger parent moments. That was one of them.

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 culturally rich CWRU community.

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.

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. 

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).

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. 

Well done, Dad! We are so proud of you!

Kindergarten and kissing hands

Nolan holds his kissing hand

My baby started kindergarten this week.

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. 

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.

When I asked him to pose for a photo with his brother Nico, 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.

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.

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 academic redshirting, particularly with boys. 

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 great teachers Nico had 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.

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.

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.

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. 

I cried and had to look at the tiny red heart on my hand.

Hungry Ghost artist talk in San Francisco this Saturday

Today is the last day of Asian Pacific American Heritage Month and the end of a jam-packed period of wonderful cultural activities in the San Francisco Bay Area. I feel very fortunate to have had the opportunity to curate an art exhibit during this time featuring the work of 38 Asian American women artists.

This Saturday, the Asian American Women Artists Association will host an artist salon where several of the Hungry Ghost artists will join me in discussing their pieces and the overall exhibition.
 
Artist Salon:
Saturday, June 2, 2012, 4 PM
Free event - donations gratefully accepted! 

Exhibition Dates:
Monday, April 23 - Friday, June 8, 2012
9 AM - 5 PM

Location: 
Thoreau Center for Sustainability
The Presidio, Building 1014
Torney Avenue
San Francisco, CA 94129

Join us for the Hungry Ghost: Yearning for Fulfillment Artist Salon to engage in an intimate discussion with artists from the dynamic exhibition. This is an opportunity to hear about their art making process, learn about how they interpreted the culturally rich metaphor of the "Hungry Ghost" and understand how they personally addressed the questions: How do we crave acceptance and fulfillment? What feeds us?

The Artists: Octavia Baker • Mitsuko Brooks • Jennifer Cheng • Karen Chew • Linn Chiu • Wei Ming Dariotis • Ganga Dharmappa • Stephanie Han • Khay Hembrador • Julie Huynh • Jaimee Itagaki • Zilka Joseph • Rosie Kar • Leslie Kitashima • Susan Kitazawa • Julia Kuo • Amy Lam • Lucy Liew • Elaine Gin Louie • Grace Hwang Lynch • Wei Ma • Mia Nakano • Choppy Oshiro • Cat Chiu Phillips • Michelle Salnaitis • Linda Shiue • Leah Silvieus • Sokunthary Svay • Elizabeth Travelslight • Cynthia Tom • Vivian Truong • Solongo Tseekhuu • Cat U-Thasoonthorn • Nancy Uyemura • Susan Lien Whigham • Pamela Ybanez • Stephanie Yu • Leslie Zeitler

The Curator: Lisa Chiu is a Taiwanese American writer and food fanatic. Her interest in curation stems from a desire to cultivate creative opportunities that foster cultural awareness. She conceived Hungry Ghost as a forum to amplify Asian American women’s voices and showcase their art.

Asian American Women Artists Association (AAWAA): AAWAA is a nonprofit arts organization dedicated to ensuring the visibility and documentation of Asian American women in the arts. Through exhibitions, publications, and educational programs, we offer thought-provoking perspectives that challenge societal assumptions and promote dialogue.

Emerging Curators Program: AAWAA’s Emerging Curators Program provides a platform for curators residing in the San Francisco Bay Area to develop their vision and encourage curatorial expertise in the Asian American Art. Support this project by donating to AAWAA.