This is another essay on why I am not completely assimilated, and why I tend to emphasize my ties to Chinese culture more than I am absolutely required to.

Again, for those of you joining me only for IBARW 3, it’s relevant to know that I am 1/2 Chinese, 1/4 Welsh, 1/8 English and 1/8 Scot. It’s also relevant to know that I’m a 1st (because my Uncle Leon was born in China) or probably 2nd generation (because my father was born in Oakland, California - depending on how you count it) Chinese-American native (i.e. born in America), and that I’m a 3rd generation Caucasian-American native (my grandparents born in the U.S., their parents probably not).

For the most part I lived and grew up in a very accepting family of Chinese and Caucasian folks who were all trying to assimilate and be their own success stories. We have real success stories on both sides - folks who survived abject poverty/The Great Depression and went on to get college educated. Hell, my father’s a retired college professor. My Mom’s a retired nurse (and when she was working, she was a very accomplished medical professional). Some of my aunts and uncles by marriage are successful business-people. One of my Chinese uncles was a nuclear scientist with such high security clearance that he often changed the subject when talk came around to anything to do with his field (we assume from this that he knew a lot he couldn’t talk about). My cousins are all very successful and accomplished in their fields.

Likewise, my new in-laws via H are very success oriented. We each do a lot to be very accomplished in our fields, including myself. (I’m an uber geek.)

Sometimes there are good reasons for assimilating in the workplace. It’s not like I don’t have practice.

For the purposes of heritage and assimilation and enculturation, I could choose to fully assimilate, claim my honorary white people heritage (this would probably work in most cases), my male privilege, etc., and become a very white banana (yellow on the outside, white on the inside).

But I don’t. I study Taoism, I observe the full moon with my ancestors, I remember, recall, study and practice the traditions of my Chinese family from long ago. And I do it in English because I honestly don’t speak more than a few words of Chinese. I also argue and work toward a true end to racism on the basis of my own experience and others’ (whom I generally care about or love) of how it is to live as a minority in the United States of America.

I will continue to do so.

I was thinking about my ties to Being Chinese, and I think that a strong pull there is that it’s where my Comfort Zone truly sits. Part of that is an aspect of Chinese culture that I truly value and respect, and that sits very close to my heart.

When you are a young Chinese or semi-Chinese kid (boys and girls, but unfortunately boys especially - I’d rather it were more egalitarian) and you are visiting any public business (but especially a restaurant or a grocery or general store), you are cherished. Not just by your parents or uncle or whoever brought you there, but by everyone. It’s very difficult to describe, but in most places, at least until you are 8 years old, you are everyone’s baby. Everyone looks out for you, everyone helps the older kids look after the younger kids. It’s just astounding how this feels. For at least 8 years when I went into a business in Chinatown with my parents, everyone looked after me, took care of me, loved me.

I cannot describe it any more better than that. Except that it didn’t happen with consistency in any non-Chinese space that I visited as a child. I have a compelling tie to every single tai-tai (grandmother/matriarch) and every single ba (uncle) and and every single lao (old guy) every other person who took an interest in making sure I felt loved. I feel like I owe it to every one of them to fight for their civil rights too. It’s a feeling I can’t (and shouldn’t) shake (and wouldn’t be caught dead trying to shake).

But I can tell you that it’s because of that love that I know I am Chinese. At least enough to matter, at least enough to fight for. And if you know me well, you know that if I’m inclined to fight for something, it is very difficult, if not impossible, to wrest it from my living grasp.

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