Making the Grade

Midterms was this week for the girl and the boy.  Both are the last quarter of their freshman year accept Cricket is in college and J2 is in high school.

Achievements: Cricket didn’t make the Dean’s List (whimper) but she does have a high GPA (3 point something).  She’s in different activities, making friends and has more than acclimated to school.

J2 did well in wrestling but was short of making it to state.  As for grades… summer school for one class.  Science. 

At the beginning of the year I talked to J2 about GPA and how important it is to have a good one to get into college.  I thought he was feeling me, but maybe I didn’t stress enough how none of his classes should dip below a C.  His GPA is holding at 2.0, which is the best it’s been in years.  But when you send off the transcripts for college no one cares that you aced your gym classes. 

This is still his freshman year, we can turn things around in one summer (I’m an optimist).   But for other parents of Blasian teens our there, especially boy teens, I’d like to know how your family handles it.  Do teachers overestimate your kid because of his Asian heritage or underestimates because of his black background?  And in an American culture that regales underachievers how can we make getting good grades cool?

Protection for a mixed child, Unbelievable!

On April 5, 2007 we boarded a Hawaiian Airline bound for another country (a U.S. Territory).  All of our household goods and vehicles were shipped approximately a week prior.  Here we were, heading to our new home on the Island of American Samoa. 

My husband was born in San Francisco, but raised in American Samoa.  That is where his family is.  Dad, mom, siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins.  So he was actually returning to a place that had always been home for him.  As for me, all of my family were in the states.  Plus being that I am not Samoan, this whole culture experience that I was now being emerged into was somewhat overwhelming.  Respect, respect, respect…. The bases of the Fa’a Samoa (the Samoan way).  Yet there always seemed to be exceptions.  Respect the elders, but they don’t have to respect you (the child, the young one).   Having an opinion was a sign of disrespect.  You are to sit, listen, and accept what is being said.  If you agree or not.  Something I definitely did not get.

We left the busy chaotic freeways, major stores, and state of rush, rush, rush to a place that had only two lanes, one for coming and one for going.  No street lights, only occasional stop signs, no street names, or addresses (everyone has to have a PO Box), and not one major store in sight. Meaning, no mall, Target, Mervyns, Walmart, Kmart, Kohls, nada…. There are many small mom and pop stores, mostly ran by Asians.  I must admit, there is a surreal amount of peace in the atmosphere there.  A very relaxing calm around the Island.  That is what I miss.

August 12, 2007 was the first day of school.  It was also our son’s 5th birthday.  He was starting kindergarten at Manulele Elementary.  His teacher actually taught my husband’s sister, and she is from the same village; Nuuuli.  I guess I need to explain that.  There are many villages on the Island of Am. Samoa.  I kind of describe them as gangs (although my husband doesn’t like that) but in a way it’s like “what village are you from?”  Yet for the sake of understanding I will say the villages are like cities.  Much smaller of course and normally you know everyone in your village.  There is a high chief of the village.  Then the chiefs have the men under them, and so forth. Kind of like the chain of commands with the chief being the President of the village.  Each village has its chief.  My husband has two uncles who are the chiefs of two separate villages.  Having a chief title gives you a title name.  So one uncle is the Levu which is over Nuuuli, and his other uncle is the Fagaima over the Tafuna village.  One thing I did see is your last names tells what village you are from, what family, and your status.  Well, my son’s teacher was from the same village, and also attended the same church.  So she took a little more liking to our son.

The first day of school he cried.  The second day of school, he cried.  Yet by the third day he was ready to accept his role as a kindergartner.  Before entering the classroom, students are to remove their shoes.  Something my son never did.  And he was the only one in class that wore his shoes the entire school year.  Education at school consisted of an hour of learning the Samoan language.  I miss that my kids are not currently learning the language now, because my son was actually understanding it.  One thing I will say that I DO NOT like about the Department of Education out there is corporal punishment was banned in 1998, yet some teachers have been known to still hit the children with switches wrapped with tape.  I was a witness to such a thing happening to a kindergartner (5 years old). I reported it to the principal, police, news, social services, and around ten other people/agencies and NOTHING was done. 

Now, to move on to the topic of my story…  Through out the school year we had several routine teacher parent meetings to keep us updated on the progress of our son.  Yet one particular meeting has stuck in my head to this day.  Giving me the reason to write about it.  It was in  mid-May 2008.  The last month of school.  Both my husband and I attend our son’s teacher/parent conference.  His teacher began to say how well he has done, and how hard he has tried learning the Samoan language.  He won an essay award for students in his age group.  She began to say how sweet of a child he is, all the while showing us his folder.  We thanked her for all her work with him.  She continued to express how pleased she was, and how much she cared for him.  After all was said and done, we stood up to leave.  She stood up with us.  Then she began to tell us something that made me say WOW….  She said how she loved him so, and that is why whenever he had to use the bathroom, she would leave her class to go with him so no one would beat him up for being Samoan and Palagi (white).  All the while tears have now welled up in her eyes as she told us stories of her leaving her class unattended to be watched by the neighboring teacher.  She continued to say she didn’t want anything bad to happen to him if he went by himself.  She didn’t want the other kids to do anything to him because he was Afatasi (mixed).  I wanted to cry too.   Watching her, her passion, and the fear that something would happen to my son because he was mixed was heartfelt.  I didn’t even bother at the time to say he’s not mixed with White.  At that moment getting in the car, I thought how UNBELIEVABLE!   A teacher, for the entire school year had willingly protected my son for her fear of him being hurt by others because he was mixed.  Once again I say, UNBELIEVABLE~

Blasian in the Babytalk/GMA Cover Contest 2009

http://www.parenting.com/babytalk/covercontest

I finally caving under the pressure to submit Daniel’s photo into the Babytalk/Good Morning America cover contest for 2009. Since he was born I’ve been hearing I need to put him into contests and modeling. I’ve been taking a strong stance against any of these suggestions. Of course I think my son is adorable and would love for the world to see his ultimate yumminess. But I’m sorta conflicted about pitting babies against each other. After all aren’t all babies beautiful in there own way?

Well the answer should be yes. But it seems there’s always some study done which supports popular opinion that mixed race babies are the cutest. So can someone tell me why most baby photo contest tend to showoff mono-racial babies?

Is there a mixed race baby photo contest I’m not aware of that I should be entering? Because I’m not 100% on board with pitting my little mixie against single race babies. I don’t think you can even offer a fair comparison.  I dunno…maybe I just look for issues with everything. After all this is suppose to be a positive and happy thing right? I mean if we get into the finals then we can get some great prizes along with exposure… exposure that will bring the reality of mixed race blasian babies to the masses! *insert diabolic laughter* 

But wait…why is my little one the only blasian baby in this contest anyway?!  I took some time to check thru the photo of babies just to see if I could find another biracial child.  Now I could be wrong cause some of those kids gave me pause… racial speaking…but for the sake of my argument I’m going to say I think he was the only black and asian child…so far.  I can only hope I can talk another mom of a blasian into entering =) .

I feel entering this contest will be a good thing whether we win or not. If we don’t put ourselves and our community out there for society to become aware then our voices and images will remain in the background.  What a shame that would be

Caught Between a Mommy Rock and Hard Place

After a change of plans, I wondered how I could spend the rest of my day. I was already outside and the day was so beautiful and warm. Daniel was enjoying it and looked so cute in his fisherman hat. A true shame to return home now.

So I thought…since we’re already in downtown brooklyn,  we should go hangout on the Brooklyn Heights Promenade. That would be a great way to destress, try to tan Daniel and of course get a photo.

On the way I stopped in a neighborhood store for some Arizona refreshment.  I grab my drink and head up to the counter to pay. Ironically it’s a Korean owned store with a older Korean women at the counter. As I’m paying the women starts talking to Daniel.  Then she starts a convo with me

Korean counter lady: What’s the name

Me: Daniel

Korean counter lady:  Oh, it’s a boy

Me: *frown*  yes he’s a boy

Korean counter lady: Oh so cute.

Me:  Thank you. Say Annyeong Haseyo Daniel  *paying and getting ready to leave*

Korean counter lady: Oh he’s Japanese

Me: *blink, blink*  No he’s korean…well really Korean and Black  *pointing to Daniel and then myself*

Korean counter lady: *stares at me* Uh huh

As I left the store I laughed at the thought of the Korean counter lady telling her family about the black women who came into the store with a Japanese child trying to say first he was HER baby and then he was black AND korean.

As we rolled onto the promenade I saw a mixed group of women with children.  One group of mothers with their kids. The other group of babysitters with their kids. Where would I sit? Who can I be friendly with? Honestly I stood there for a few seconds cause I was struck with the option and what it might led to.  

If I sit with the moms will they wonder why a baby sitter is in the mommy section? Will I have to explain in detail with DNA diagrams how genetics work and YES he really is my baby? Hmm

If I sit with the babysitters will they shun me after learning I am not part of the “lets complain about our bosses” club? Will I need to convince them that I’m not a spy and I’m just a regular person like them? Hmm

As I stood there looking at them, they sat there looking me waiting for me to choose an alliance. Hmm.  I’m wasn’t up to dealing with the social politics today so I made my way to an empty bench away from both groups.  There I enjoyed the sun, the smell of the sea and Daniels warm baby kisses.  What a great end to the day.