dearest daughters & son

Have I Told You Tuesday: All I Know is I Can Pull Yellow Off Okay

Dearest Daughters,

I was born into a fashionable family.

I mean: look at your Great Grandpa and Great Grandma Gibbs and Lola rockin' Pendleton plaid in 1984. And Lolopop in his vintage graphic tee. What hipsters!

Hold up. Wait a second. There weren't hipsters in 1984. And Lolopop's shirt didn't become vintage until Abercrombie & Fitch started faking vintage tees in 1999.

Furthermore, isn't it true that if three people are gathered wearing the same thing, then they are by definition a gang? Or in church? I forget. There's a fine line.

Well, at least we were rocking the "mixed family" thing. That wasn't so common in 1984 as it is now. Now, in California and on morning network news shows, at least, hapa peeps are ubiquitous. So, I guess we were kind of "ahead of the times" in that regard.

As if being mixed can be boiled down to a trend. Gah!

Never the mind. Forget I said anything. Plaid, cotton, church or gang. I know not from whence I come.

(But look how cute I am, sporting gender neutral yellow, a perennial baby fashion favorite! And not, in general, a good color on Asian-hued skin, but given my mixed-ness, I think I got away with it nicely.)

Love,

Have I Told You Tuesday: The Story of Your Names - it's not that confusing

Dearest Daughters,

When it comes to names, Filipinos are not lacking in creativity.

One Filipino naming tradition is to give children a name derived from their parents' names. Maryvic. Joseann. Laurichal (I just made that one up). And after all that, they usually just use a self-explanitory nickname like "Boy Boy" or "Girlie." That's on the reals.

I'm a "meaning" person. Things in my life need to have "meaning" or else what's the point? I'm intense like that.

So, when we named you both, we basically followed the above principles: combine names and make sure the names have some significance.

Maribel: Mari- comes from my maternal grandmother, crazy Grandma Reyes/Acoba whose name was, you guessed it, Maria. The -bel part is from your daddy's paternal grandmother whose middle name was Bell. And she hated it. I hope neither of your great grandmothers are turning in their graves.

Danielle Jolee: was simple enough. We wanted to keep pulling names from our families and honor two amazing men, especially since we had bought and moved into our new house and received so much support from them in the year preceding your birth. So, we choose a name from each of your grandfathers, Grampa Beadle and Lolopop.

It is more of a Spanish-speaking world tradition to pass down both the maternal and paternal last names, but it's not unheard of in Filipino families. All of my siblings have or had (before marriage) some combination of Lola's (we all have the same mom) last name, Reyes, and our respective fathers' (there are three of them between the four of us) last name. Your Uncle Bruce's name is hyphenated. Your Auntie D used her last names interchangeably depending on context. And your Unkinan and I were given the middle name Reyes and the last name Gibbs. No hyphen. And the option to use either or both as we saw fit.

Anyway, all that is to say, that we gave you both the middle name Reyes. It is a Spanish name, given to my grandfather's family during colonial occupation of the Philippines, originally de los Reyes, shortened by immigration officials when he came to the United States.

And your last name, by traditional naming standards is Beadle. Which is totally confusing because your dad goes by his last name.

Actually, it's not confusing.

Call me a conformist, but you can't say I don't speak my mind.

Dearest Daughters,

In a world of limitless art supplies and boundless time and two year olds, I agree that there is no right and wrong. I believe in open-ended art and play. I encourage pretending and tinkering and open-ended conversation.

I do everything in my capacity to build my girls up. Not tear you down. Especially not with mockery and berating, but, I must admit, sometimes a finger shake. Right, Danjo, Miss Finger Shaker?

I've written before about grey areas and my desire to avoid making my children feel wrong, making you feel like there is only one right answer.

I've had these thoughts for the very same reason as Teacher Tom (via Intrepid Murmurings), who writes:

When we manage to teach children that there is a right way and a wrong way, they are learning something about black and white. They are learning something about their own judgement. They are learning something about rote and obedience. And I think none of it good, at least if the idea is to have them ultimately emerge from school as people who form their own ideas and have the courage to express them.

Certainly. I want you, my daughters, to be true to yourselves and to be courageous in your convictions and actions.

But, there's something about this approach to child-rearing that is too "perfect world" for me. Never offering guidance about "right" and "wrong" or communicating expectations of excellence.

Yes, in a perfect world, those are the children I would raise. Children who are self-motivated to learn and make good choices. Who don't hit each other because they understand that it hurts, who want to learn math because they understand its fascinating application to natural phenomenon. (Click on Teacher Tom's link about "obedience" above, for more on that. A whole 'nother post. Don't have time to go there now.)

But, in reality?

An Addendum to my Master Plan for Raising Mixed Children

Dearest Daughters,

I hate to be a buzz kill and continue to post about such "serious" things as raising mixed children, but I'm sure Auntie Amy was not our only reader (present or future) that has questions, concerns and takes exception to what I post on this blog. To appease the silent masses, I have a few more thoughts on the subject. Two things.

We all want our children to thrive.

I think that all parents can agree they want to give their children the best possible chance at survival in the world that their station in life can afford. That's why we feed them and educate them. Teach them how to communicate. How to behave. Enrich them. How to make good choices. Surround them with good people.

So, that when we send them off to kindergarten, let them take public transit alone for the first time, permit them to have a boyfriend or girlfriend, kick them out of the house, even. Basically, when we're not around, they'll not only survive, but thrive.

This, in part, is why "being Filipino" should be a part of our daily lives. My children, more so than I, look Filipino. And despite what some would like to believe, this is NOT a colorblind world. Nor should it be. My children's heritage, ethnicity, culture and appearance should be a point of pride. Not of contention. So that when they go into the world, they will never be made to feel ashamed--actively (i.e. by overt racism or stereotyping) or subconsciously (i.e. by media). They will be proud of who they are.

To claim their Filipinoness is NOT to reject their whiteness or their Americaness.

Adobo and Buzz Lightyear: my master plan for raising mixed girls

Dearest Daughters,

Having biracial children, Lola and Lolopop made a conscious decision to raise us as Filipino as possible. Lola was born in the United States, doesn't speak the language, cook much of the food and is not Catholic (which is a big cultural aspect of being Filipino). So, raising us "Filipino" entailed surrounding us with a community of Filipino aunties and uncles, seeking out the annual Manila Fests around Northern California and teaching us a few words and phrases that my dad picked up in a Tagalog class. Other stuff too: buying books, teaching us to respect our elders, sending a rice cooker with me to college. And more!

I knew my dad was white, I knew I was part white, but most of my childhood I claimed to be Filipino, because that's the culture I identified with. Also, I didn't want to be the only "white girl" in my grade in predominantly Asian south Stockton. Then in middle school, when we moved to Marin County, I didn't want to be one of "those kids" who were cruel middle schoolers at a school aptly called White Hill; "those" mean kids also happened to be white, which in retrospect I can't blame them for. But imagine my culture shock and the associations I made between my first immersion in white society and being treated so meanly, made fun of for my smelly lunches and self-concious when the envelope to collect money for weekly pizza day circulated around homeroom. (I'll add for a point of reference, there was NO subsidized school lunch program at White Hill. Lunch was "catered" two days a week--pizza and burrito days--the rest of the days everyone brought their own lunch. The school I went to before had almost 100% participation in the free or reduced lunch program. My parents made enough money that we never qualified for free or reduced lunches, so we were accostomed to bringing our brown bags. But the fact that NO ONE at the school qualified for a subsidized lunch, shows that socio-economic issues were also at play.)

"What ARE you?" they'd ask.

"A human."

"No. I mean where are you from?"

"My mother's womb?"

"You know what I mean. Like what nationality are you?"

"My nationality is American. I was born here."

"No like what ARRRRREEE you? You know!"

"Oh! I'm Filipino."

Blank stares. Perhaps, they were considering what Filipino is or why I'm obviously so stupid. Perhaps both.

Speaking of being proud of my niece:

I forgot to add "functional multi-racial/multi-cultural identity" to her list of adjectives. I know we get caught up in "identity" and with exoticising mixed individuals (though we are the best), but here's proof to those who would think otherwise that "racial-mixing" is as natural as can be: a story about a "mixed" polar/grizzly bear. Note to that girl from Kentucky that I met during high school (and others like her around the world) who told me that she'd never marry a non-white person because "she would never do that to [her] children" because it's just "unfair" and "not what [she's] used to": If two different species of bears can do it I think it's a-ok for individuals from the same human species who happen to look different to make babies. It's a cute bear after all!

Reflections on the real world, law enforcement and identity

Me: It'll be different in the real world. We won't have the security of knowing Campus Police is there to help us, to unlock our doors when we get locked out, to find our lost items, to take us to the infirmary when we have alcohol poisoning...
KT: Yeah, real world police officers are too busy to help.
Me: Oh. Too busy? I meant like, CampusPo actually cares about my well being, whereas the Police are like corrupt, profiling, law enforcing, gun-toting, Narc-y out-to-get-you-and-your-homies types. They're too busy to help, because they're trying to hold a sistah down.
KT: I don't think of them like that.
Me: I guess it's the 'hood in me.
KT: Oh, well I'm white.
Me: Me too.
KT: ...?
Me: Shit, did I just admit that?
KT: Well, you're not like all white.
Me: Whew. I was worried.