So after law school, I basically continued in my delusional state for a couple of years. And then, I had a major a-ha moment. One day my whole family happened to be in town for some family event. My mom, my stepbrother and my nephew were out and about and stopped at a local country club to buy a shirt that my nephew wanted. When my stepbrother and nephew went into the clubhouse to buy the shirt, they were refused with a lame excuse (either the store was closed or not open to the public or some such nonsense). But when my mom went in five minutes later, she had no problem buying the shirt.
What I remember most was when they came home and told us the story. Every white person in the room was outraged, ready to write nasty letters to whomever we could think of in angry protest. Every black person in the room sort of shrugged their shoulders and said "yep - that happens" I started to realize that I had no concept of what it really meant to be black in America, day in and day out. What it was like to live with a thousand little cuts that, alone, were meaningless but that combined were enough to create a protective callous on your soul.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Background - Part 2
As I grew up, my wish to be like and look like my stepfather continued. I took every odd glance, every act of discrimination our family encountered to heart. I convinced myself that I really knew what it was like to be black in America - that, in fact, I was for all intents and purposes practically black myself - a sort of inside out oreo.
This delusion came to a head when I started law school. I chose to attend the same law school my parents had both attended - the school, in fact, where they had first met. They were in the school's first graduating class and my dad was the first - the only - black student. "When I was in law school," he would intone, "BLSA [the Black Law Student's Association] met whenever I dined alone!"
Well, when I started there, I decided to join BLSA. But they didn't want me. I was outraged. Didn't they recognize that I was a kindrid spirit? Didn't they know who I was!? I wrote an indignant letter to the editor of the school paper which was, of course, published. BLSA then decided I could join as an associate member. I declined. In my mind, it was too little too late. Besides, finals were coming up and I needed to study.
More later.
Meg
This delusion came to a head when I started law school. I chose to attend the same law school my parents had both attended - the school, in fact, where they had first met. They were in the school's first graduating class and my dad was the first - the only - black student. "When I was in law school," he would intone, "BLSA [the Black Law Student's Association] met whenever I dined alone!"
Well, when I started there, I decided to join BLSA. But they didn't want me. I was outraged. Didn't they recognize that I was a kindrid spirit? Didn't they know who I was!? I wrote an indignant letter to the editor of the school paper which was, of course, published. BLSA then decided I could join as an associate member. I declined. In my mind, it was too little too late. Besides, finals were coming up and I needed to study.
More later.
Meg
Monday, February 11, 2008
Background - part 1
So now that I've decided (sort of) what I'm going to do with this blog, a little background is called for to give context to my musings on cultural appropriation and being a multi-cultural family.
You see, I grew up in a multicultural family. My (very white) mother married my African-American stepfather when I was young. My relationship with my "real" father was very strained, so I've always considered my stepfather to be my dad. So much so that for a large part of my childhood, I wished I looked like him so that people wouldn't think it strange that he was my father.
There is a story my family tells about one time we all went to church togethre when my parents were dating. All four of us kids were there - two of us blond, aged 5 and 3 and two of us black, aged 4 and 1. This was in the Pacific Northwest in about 1972 or 1973. A little old Norwegian lady was looking at our family with great confusion. My dad leaned over, and told her quite seriously "for those two, I was on top and for those two, she was on top ." "Ohhh," she said, as if she now understood it all perfectly.
I don't remember this, but every time my parents told the story, I got a little glow inside, thinking "this is my family," happy to belong with them and to be a family - even if the rest of the world didn't always see it the same way.
More later.
Meg
You see, I grew up in a multicultural family. My (very white) mother married my African-American stepfather when I was young. My relationship with my "real" father was very strained, so I've always considered my stepfather to be my dad. So much so that for a large part of my childhood, I wished I looked like him so that people wouldn't think it strange that he was my father.
There is a story my family tells about one time we all went to church togethre when my parents were dating. All four of us kids were there - two of us blond, aged 5 and 3 and two of us black, aged 4 and 1. This was in the Pacific Northwest in about 1972 or 1973. A little old Norwegian lady was looking at our family with great confusion. My dad leaned over, and told her quite seriously "for those two, I was on top and for those two, she was on top ." "Ohhh," she said, as if she now understood it all perfectly.
I don't remember this, but every time my parents told the story, I got a little glow inside, thinking "this is my family," happy to belong with them and to be a family - even if the rest of the world didn't always see it the same way.
More later.
Meg
Sunday, February 10, 2008
a clarification
OK - I have to point out that, according to my clock - it is 10:45 - not 9:16. I don't want any readers that may come around to think I normally go to bed at 8:45. Heck, even the C.T. normally isn't asleep by then - honest!
Meg
Meg
Questions
Hi! I'm still here! Yes, I know it's been a month since I posted last - and I'm going to improve on that - honest. I've been sort of struggling with exactly what I want this blog to be about. See, the main things that occupy my mind are (1) my job, (2) my husband and (3) my daughter. But none of those topics really provide consistent blog fodder. With respect to my job - even I am not oblivious enough to imagine that the things I find interesting would be at all remotely interesting to anyone else. Besides which - I'm not allowed to write about the things that might either be interesting to other people or put the things I could potentially write about in context. With respect to my husband - I love him dearly, but don't really feel comfortable writing about our relationship on the internet. Good things I would have to say would likely seem trite and boring. Bad things I have to say should probably just be kept between the two of us. I might occasionally have some amusing and interesting anecdotes, but they don't ordinarily give me the incentive to turn the computer on and start typing late at night after everyone else has gone to bed. The same is true about my daughter - although the anecdotes might be more frequent and possibly more amusing.
So, I've decided to keep this blog as a place to identify and wrestle with questions about life and living that come up as I read other blogs and books. I think it will be useful for me to actually write these things out as I think about them. It might possibly be entertaining for others - but the primary purpose will be for me to put some thought and structure to some of the things whirling around my brain.
A couple of things that have stuck in my brain lately. First of all, over on the anti-racist parent blog, http://www.antiracistparent.com/2008/01/30/the-ultimate-cultural-appropriation/, there was an interesting post about cultural appropriation relating to a necklace that the author had for years that had the Korean characters for "mother" on it that she now feels uncomfortable wearing because she feels that it might make her children feel that she was discounting or diminishing their first mother. I have a similar necklace, with the Chinese characters for "mother" that I recently asked for as a mother's day present. This post has stuck with me, and made me think about when cultural appreciation crosses the line and becomes cultural appropriation and how, as an adoptive parent, I can honor and encourage my daughter to be proud of her Chinese heritage without losing sight of the fact that it is HER heritage - not mine. I have more to say about this, but that is a post for another time.
The other thing that has stuck in my brain lately relates to a book I've been reading - The Emperor's Children, by Claire Messud. I think I'm going to pick it for the next time I host my bookclub - partly because I really liked it, but mostly because I think it would be a great conversation starter, and I would really like to hear what the other members of my book club think about it. It has gotten me to wondering how much of who I am is a result of how my parents saw me and treated me - and how much of how I parent my children will affect who they become as adults. Again - I have more thoughts on this, and will post on it later.
Until then, it is half an hour past my bedtime, and tomorrow is a work day.
I promise - it won't be a month before I post again.
Meg
So, I've decided to keep this blog as a place to identify and wrestle with questions about life and living that come up as I read other blogs and books. I think it will be useful for me to actually write these things out as I think about them. It might possibly be entertaining for others - but the primary purpose will be for me to put some thought and structure to some of the things whirling around my brain.
A couple of things that have stuck in my brain lately. First of all, over on the anti-racist parent blog, http://www.antiracistparent.com/2008/01/30/the-ultimate-cultural-appropriation/, there was an interesting post about cultural appropriation relating to a necklace that the author had for years that had the Korean characters for "mother" on it that she now feels uncomfortable wearing because she feels that it might make her children feel that she was discounting or diminishing their first mother. I have a similar necklace, with the Chinese characters for "mother" that I recently asked for as a mother's day present. This post has stuck with me, and made me think about when cultural appreciation crosses the line and becomes cultural appropriation and how, as an adoptive parent, I can honor and encourage my daughter to be proud of her Chinese heritage without losing sight of the fact that it is HER heritage - not mine. I have more to say about this, but that is a post for another time.
The other thing that has stuck in my brain lately relates to a book I've been reading - The Emperor's Children, by Claire Messud. I think I'm going to pick it for the next time I host my bookclub - partly because I really liked it, but mostly because I think it would be a great conversation starter, and I would really like to hear what the other members of my book club think about it. It has gotten me to wondering how much of who I am is a result of how my parents saw me and treated me - and how much of how I parent my children will affect who they become as adults. Again - I have more thoughts on this, and will post on it later.
Until then, it is half an hour past my bedtime, and tomorrow is a work day.
I promise - it won't be a month before I post again.
Meg
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