A Lesson (Circa 1997) #UnAmerican

We were in Albany. Or maybe it was Buffalo. I think it was around when we were becoming U.S. Citizens. My sister and I quizzed each other the day before on questions they may ask us during the interview. I think it was around that time. But I could be wrong. It’s easy to remember the incident. It’s easy to forget the details. We were in a park. Our family always loved parks. Think dad loved them more than my mom and she eventually came around to loving them too. We always sought them out. And it was in a park somewhere in upstate New York, surrounded by greenery and bathed in nature and sun, that our family sat together, probably eating some food.

Nearby, a little girl about 3 or 4 was playing with her mother. The little girl, timidly, coyly, slowly made her way towards us. My father always said hi to kids, even tho we reminded him constantly that in America people thought suspicious of a grown man speaking to a child he didn’t know. That it creeped people out. He didn’t seem to care. Kids made him happy. He didn’t see why he had to change his open and friendly ways just because others had their reservations. He saw nothing wrong with it. It made my mother hold her breath every time he’d say hello to a kid he didn’t know.

The little girl was in front of us. Standing. Her mother a foot behind her. “Hello there,” he said smiling. There was always a “there.” A confirmation of sorts that he sees you, a recognition of your presence. The kid maybe waved. Or maybe she just continued to stare at us in silence. We all smiled at that little white child. We all greeted her.

“Chinese,” she said, pointing in our direction. It happened so fast. But my father wasn’t fazed. He was still smiling. He spoke in his soft voice. “Not Chinese. Korean,” he said. He was probably the only one of us who wasn’t uncomfortable. Maybe I winced. Maybe I groaned. I didn’t look at anyone else to catch their reaction. Not that I had time to. The little girl’s mom snatched her child’s hand, leaned down towards us and spat out, “She’s just a kid,” right before she turned her back and walked away from us with her little girl in tow.

I didn’t understand. What did we do wrong? We were minding our own business. Her kid decided to come over to us. And when she called us something we weren’t, we didn’t scold her, which we could have, instead we simply corrected her, kindly. A “teaching opportunity” is what we’re told to take anytime someone expresses ignorance towards us. Give those who don’t know better the benefit of the doubt and take the opportunity to teach them in a kind way. Be patient. We are told these things. Over and over again. But no one teaches us that people aren’t looking for a “learning opportunity.” They’d rather stand their ground on being wrong. It’s a free country. Except for those who ain’t free, who pay tolls with their soul, with their pride, with their dignity just to exist in the free country. A toll in and a toll out. Pay up.

We watched them walk away. The little girl who brought a smile to my father’s face was being tugged away from us by her mother. We sat in silence. I could feel my mother’s anger. Sis may have said something like “That was rude.” I’m sure she’ll see this and correct me.

“Well teach her then,” I think I said.

Not sure if they heard me.

It was probably too late.