My Middle Name
Friday, December 17, 2010 The crowd was evenly split, half of them waving dollar bills while mockingly encouraging their chosen gladiator, Jeff. The other half doing the same, but chanting "Greasy! Greasy! Greasy!"
Greasy Lee. I didn't choose that name. It was bestowed by the 5th grade bully elite upon the chubby Asian kid who always happened to suffer bad hair days.
I glanced across the makeshift arena, which was nothing more than a clearing between two boulders and a tree stump in the woods behind the school. Jeff and I locked eyes. Not in aggression, but more in a desperate telepathic attempt to assure the other that we were doing this for our mutual survival.
I don't remember the fight. But I do remember sitting in math class afterwards, unable to write anything on the worksheet in front of me because my hand was trembling uncontrollably. I also remember the dozens of perfect red dots on Jeff's white polo shirt, which matched the missing skin on my middle knuckle.
There we were. The only two Asian kids in an otherwise white working class New England town, divided and conquered.
* * * *
When we first moved to the suburbs from the heart of Boston, it was every kid's dream come true. A sprawling ranch-style house with a huge playroom, a circular driveway for unhindered bike riding, and an immense backyard. Which meant I could get a dog. Summer was everything it was supposed to be.
Fall meant starting a new school, but I wasn't worried. I had switched schools a couple times before, and it always brought with it new friends. Also, this was the first time I was going to take a bus to school. Just like in the movies!
And the first few moments were just as I had pictured. As we drove up to the corner, I noticed a group of kids laughing, chatting and probably catching up, dressed in their shiny, new back-to-school best.
I said bye to my dad, jumped out of the car and made my way over to my new friends.
"Ching chong!"
"ah sooo!"
"Hey, chink!"
I sat by myself, at the back of the bus.
* * * *
Having grown up in a multi-cultural part of Boston, the only ethnic stereotyping I ever encountered was Bugs Bunny putting on a rice paddy hat every once in a while and bowing at Elmer Fudd. When you're 7, it's kind of funny. When it's not happening to you, it's kind of funny.
Moving to the suburbs in 4th grade taught me a lot about race. Namely, that it mattered. That when you're different, or your parents speak to you in a tongue no one else can understand, people are allowed to make fun of you. I mean, if you think about it, it is kind of funny when a girl walks up to you at recess, smiles and asks you:
"what do you call a fat Chinese kid?"
(smiling back) "What."
"A chunk."
And you learn to laugh along. With every karate chop, ching chong, buck toothed smile, and slant eye gesture they can throw at you.
You also learn to hate your race.
* * * *
"What's your middle name?"
"I don't have one."
* * * *
Eating by myself in the lunchroom had its advantages. On the occasional day when my mom would pack me a steamed bun, shrimp chips or something equally Asian, I could dine incognito, safe from ridicule.
* * * *
"If you don't practice your Chinese, you'll forget it," mom would remind me.
"If it means people forget I'm Chinese, I'll take it," I thought.
* * * *
Jeff didn't look Asian to me. Maybe it's because I'd never met anyone who was only half Asian. But he didn't make fun of me, so there was that. Having someone to sit next to on the school bus and eat lunch with is sometimes all you need to quell the stomachaches that well up before you walk out your front door each morning. Also, he had Atari.
We'd still get picked on, but when you travel in numbers, even if it's two, you take half the punishment.
* * * *
"Why aren't you wearing green?"
"I'm not Irish," I replied.
"Everyone's Irish on St. Patrick's Day," Chris threatened.
"I'm American, so I'm wearing blue," I countered.
I think the kids savored beating me up that day, more so than usual. American. How dare Greasy Lee say that? He eats shrimp chips.
* * * *
Jeff and I got into an argument one day. I don't remember about what. Probably something we would have gotten over the next day.
"Hey Greasy, I'm betting all my lunch money you can beat him up."
"Kick his ass, Greasy. I'm betting two dollars you can."
"We're setting up a fight for you at recess tomorrow. Don't be a pussy, Greasy."
I went to sleep that night, replaying in my head the right cross that Frankie taught me on the school bus. While sitting next to me.
* * * *
I was riding the school bus home one afternoon and grateful that I might make it through the day free of being teased. Two more stops. As I sat there, not really looking at anything or anyone, my gaze met Lenny's, one of the only Black kids in my town. We hesitated for a moment.
"What are you looking at, chink?"
"Fuck you, nigger."
* * * *
My sixth grade teacher, Mr. Cruickshanks was a World War II veteran. He "stormed Iwo Jima and killed Japs." His war stories were actually quite entertaining. He had a passion for them. Science? Not so much.
One day, we were learning about lighting, and how you're safest in a car during a lightning storm.
"Does anyone know why?" he asked the class.
"Because of the rubber tires," he answered for us.
I raised my hand. "Mr. Cruickshanks, that's actually not true. It's because electricity in its quest to be grounded travels around the metal frame of the car and into the ground. In order for the rubber to even be a factor in insulating you from electricity, it would have to be 3 miles thick." [I had actually just learned this at the Museum of Science.]
Mr Cruickshanks stopped writing on the board, turned around slowly and removed his glasses.
"Jim, go back to Shanghai."
* * * *
I studied hard that year, and worked harder than I ever worked. Because all I wanted was get into private school the next year. I didn't do it for the academic challenge. I didn't do it because it would set me up to go to an elite college. I didn't do it because I could reach my full potential. I did it so the teasing would stop. Turns out you can motivate an 11-year old, after all.
And after I made it in, the teasing did stop. I even took Chinese my junior and senior year.
* * * *
"What's your middle name?"
"Oh, it's just my Chinese name. You'll forget it once I tell you, so I'm not gonna bother."
* * * *
By the time college rolled around, I had practically forgotten all about 4th, 5th and 6th grade. I mean, I was doing people a favor not telling them my middle name. I didn't want them to be embarrassed if they mispronounced it, right?
* * * *
Around when Fury was born, I was chatting it up with some guys at work. Someone made a joke about Asians, but quickly apologized to me. A co-worker of mine jumped in.
"Jim? Come on, he's whiter than any of us white guys!"
That made me proud. Then a little bit disgusted.
* * * *
The other day, I was packing Fury's lunch.
"Dad, can you pack me some shrimp chips for snack?"
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. I want shrimp chips."
"Ok, but I don't want the other ki-- Ok, I'll pack you shrimp chips."
* * * *
My middle name is Ching-Kuo. And you can pronounce it just fine.
Reader Comments (156)
My heart breaks for little you. But all those assholes (sorry BusyGma) made you the awesome man you are today and that little clone of yours who isn't afraid to eat shrimp chips is that way because of YOU.
Oh, Jim. This is so beautifully-written and it made me so sad to read. Thank you so much for sharing. It can't have been easy to write it all out.
and here it is. in black and white. therapeutic? couldn't read through most of it . I admire your bravery. thank you for getting Fury and me 2 jumbo bags of shrimp chips the other day. ♥
Kudos for sharing this and props for doing it so well. The structure, with the quick flashes from memory to memory, made the post incredibly powerful.
I just wanna hug 12 year old you. For once, there's no joke there.
This was some damn fine writing and soul-baring, dude.
Jim,
I'm a mutt that would sometimes bring lumpia to school in a farm town in Oklahoma. Kids asked if I was black because that was interchangeable with minority in that town. I was one of the more exotic things they'd seen.
My dad wanted me to have a very American name. That's me and my sisters got cheerleader names. The eldest is Keli, next is Tiffani, and yes, I spell Jenni with an i as well. Plenty of space to add hearts and other flair. He's half Filipino. It's hard to blame him.
I told my son he would need notes to remember all of his ethnic background and that 'American' would work just fine. He recently came home with an application for native American education. Funny enough, it is one of the few things he isn't really much of.
Wow... *applauding*
You are incredibly amazing BD, in every single way.
ps. can I have some shrimp chips too??
Thanks for telling us that story and we know it was hard to go back to those days but I'm grateful coz I'm a mom of a 4 yrs old and 4 mo old.. Atleast I know what Asian kids go through. You made it sound funny but it's touching and heartbreaking at the same time...
I hope jeff somehow finds this. This is so tragic on so many levels but at least it paved you (and me) to milton. Be proud. You have country in your name. The country!
And it also ensured that fury will be spared something similar. If anything did, someone would have to deal with his dad!
PS don't forget your sister has the girl version of your name. But I'm so glad I had the rosier route through grade school.
Good lord, Jim. Im so sorry you have this to tell, and very glad you told it.
I can't even imagine how tough this was to go through when you were a kid. Just know if I would have went to school with you when we were ten, I would have sat with you and tried to eat your lunch.
Yeah. Suburban Boston in the 70s and early 80s... not really a role model for how to embrace cultural diversity. It embarrasses me to think of how lonesome and terrible that clearly was for you (and Jeff. And doubtlessly tons of other kids) back in the day. And it heartens me just as much to know what a different (in a better way) world it is for our kids today.
Thanks for sharing this. It makes me angry to know how young Jim was treated, but it's made you who you are today. I like who you are today. You're like an Ogre. You have layers;)
All I can say is...powerful....thank you for sharing
Heartbreaking.
Thanks for sharing.
I'm so used to your sharp wit and humor, that I kept looking for the punchline. Even a few paragraphs in. Terrible. Awful. Sad. Kids--and adults--can be so thoughtless and cruel. Thanks for sharing this with us.
I am so sad for you...and proud at the same time. Thank you for sharing and reminding me again why I am so glad my kids and I have friends of all colors, nationalities and backgrounds-we are all just human, my friend, getting through our time on this planet the best we can.
It is truly staggering what we survive.
Beautiful post about how damaging bullying can be, and yet how strong it can make us at the same time. Thank you for sharing your story.
Wow. Thank you. Seems to me that bullying continues in the same way today. Parents encourage individuality and tell of how it's okay to be different but kids...they still don't like different.
I found your blog/this post through a RT. This breaks my heart and make me angry. But ti does not surprise me. What it does is scare the hell out of me b/c my two year old Ethiopian daughter and my three year old Vietnamese son will be in elementary school in the blink of an eye. Someone several comments back said they were glad that the world is better in a good way today, but I don't believe that. I wish it were true, but I don't think it is. So thank you for sharing this and hugs to you and the person you are.
I like your face.
thatisall.
*standing ovation* That couldn't have been easy to share, but I am SO glad you did. Thank you, Jim.
I heart you so hard right now I can actually feel it in my toes.
You gave me a new perspective on that time in my life. I went to predominately white school. Some of the asians at our school were treated the same way. Of course I can only speak for myself but from my perspective no harm was intended. Harm may have occurred but we were 9 and smart eniough to know how to express our curiosity in a more thoughtful manner. I'm sure some intended to be mean but I think they were the true minority. But there are a few people I liked in elementary school that hopefulLy didn't interpret things the same way you did because more often than not kids don't intend to be mean but don't have the experience to realize they are.
<3
xo
You are an amazing man, friend and father (I'm sure you're an awesome hubby, too) :-)
All that you went through and survived and kicked ass, it's made you all that you are today and it's why I know Fury is going to be a spectacular man, too.
I'm so sorry that you went through all of that, however, it's made you who you are.. compassionate, proud, objective, strong, funny and tough. so.........
<3 ;-)
This is so powerful. I'm in tears. Thank you for writing it. Now, as I raise a Haitian child in a very white small American city, I wonder if anything has changed and I wonder what I can do. Do you see a difference for Fury? How will you handle this if (when?) you run into it? And can we (can I) teach my white, red-headed boys to step forward if they encounter this behavior? Because that would be teaching them to be braver than I ever was as a child. (And that's even with the experience of very hateful antisemitic names thrown at me in my own 5th grade class.)
I was a fifth grade teacher and fought like hell to teach my students the importance of community and treating their classmates fairly, valuing diversity. Did it always happen? No. If it wasn't ethnic based, it was the boy that had a lisp or the girl that developed way earlier than anyone else.
I'm sorry for what you endured Jim, I wish there were more teachers that supported you.
On a completely different side note, I was made fun of every year on St. Patrick's Day. My father made me wear orange because my family is Italian, he thought it was more important to insult others than to join in the fun.
Powerfully told. Elegantly, devastatingly shows how it happens, how damage is carried deep, and what can heal it, what can triumph.
Such a well written post... while I'd love to go back and spit on some kids for you, it doesn't change/erase/make better any of it (It does however make me look like a mean old lady who spits on children. Not great)
A really powerful post.
I'm glad I found this post through an RT. I can't imgagine how hard this was for you to write. My husband's family immigrated from China when he was three. He endured some of the same treatment in elementrary school. People can be so cruel. My son, who is half Chinese, is in Kindergarten and has come home saying kids are saying "ching chong" to him and wants to know what it means. Thanks again for sharing.
You?
Are awesome.
xo,
Lard Ass Lee.
(My nickname for years. Whee.)
I think I was one of those kids, though never mean-spiritedly. But ignorant. Extremely ignorant. I've always been ashamed of that. Why didn't I know better?
I'm glad your experience has changed you into the person you are now, not someone embittered with the world. I like who you are now, even if you are too fucking pretty.
Thanks for being brave enough to write this.
I can't say that I had the same experiences as you, but I can say that I relate.
This story hurts my heart but I know this stuff happens every day.
I was a white kid with an Asian mom. Turns out I was adopted but nobody bothered to tell me that so I grew up believing I was half Asian (I feel dumb enough on my own, no need to laugh).
When kids would crack jokes about my mom, which they always did, it didn't hurt me for me. But it hurt me for her. She was an amazing woman who endured and prevailed over myriad obstacles in her life. But they didn't know or care about that. She was just someone to laugh at; there for their amusement, apparently.
After a certain point, I was just embarrassed of her because of the scrutiny it brought upon me—"Hey, how come you don't look Chinky like your mom? Huh?"
Believe me when I say I will never stop hating myself for that.
When I was 13, also about the time I started to not give a shit about what other people said, she died unexpectedly in a car accident. I always hoped the kids who'd made fun of her felt shitty and guilty...but they probably didn't.
I really just wanted to say that I understand but without the backstory, those words might have sounded hollow.
I heart Jim, that is all.
I grew up in a VERY Asian city, so I knew no different. I'm odd like that. I saw all kinds of cool toys that the parents brought back of China, Korea, and Japan. This is where my fondess for Sanrio and Hello Kitty, began.
In 7th grade, we moved to Orange County, and wow, what an awakening. I had some difficulty adjusting, puberty set in, and well, my maiden name of Wilson, did not help either. I was taunted as Willy the Whale by several boys at school. I see those boys as friends on other people's Facebook accounts now, which makes me remember everything, sigh...
I hate(d) bring the odd kid out. So yes, Jim, I've been there. I can't understand the racism or even relate, but I've been there in a different aspect....
pss. I was called Piper the Diaper Wiper forever, and it SUCKED... until I actually became one. Ha!
I'm so proud of you for writing this, I don't know anyone who could have done it as well as you did, with such bravery and heart-wrenching honesty. I've been thinking all night about how this no longer will have power over you now, because YOU brought it out into the light. I've also been marveling at your determination to rise above it, by way of academic acheivment. That speaks volumes about your character... and the strength of your cultured roots... and the heritage you are passing onto your children. You're the best!
This is amazing. I hung on every word. I know you keep things light here but when you go *there*, we go there with you, with gratitude that we've been invited in.
So brave my friend. As you know, I experienced what you felt acutely, in my own 99.9% Caucasian Boston suburb.
And I love your ass kicking warrior middle name. Not sure if I told you, but I'm thinking of legally changing Laurel's name to add a Korean middle name (and also give one to her sister).
It's good to come to the other side.
This post, what you endured, breaks my heart. You are courageous to share it.
I was the white kid who elected to go to Chinese School. I wish I hadn't forgotten my Chinese. I also wish someone had offered me shrimp chips.
Jim this post is awesome.
<3 In my book, your middle name could be Awesome.
Wow. This is so well done. I love how you wrote the different pieces of memories as fragmented moments. That's how we all remember things from our past ~great job.
I'm so sorry you had to endure this and have these memories. The hardest for me to read was the memory of the teacher ~shame on him. He certainly didn't learn anything beneficial from his life experiences, but you obviously have. Thank you for sharing this. You are a tremendous, gifted man.
In high school, I was called (a name I shouldn't repeat here) and told I had a horrible temper because I had red hair. Nice. I'm so glad I don't have to live my life in reverse. I wouldn't want to relive certain times in my past. Onward!
It is amazing how all those little moments paint such an intimate picture of how you grew up. Thank you for sharing and letting us in. (And my kids love prawn crackers with passion, so any teasers can go scratch.)
Wow, that was so powerfully written. I think it should be required reading or something.
Thank you for sharing. You have come out on the other side an amazing man who truly cares for others. I'm sorry you had to go through all that, but if it made you who you are then at least something good came out of it.
Wow, this is so moving and touching. You sound so strong after everything you've been through. After reading this, I felt inspired to write about my experiences living in the projects growing up. Is it ok if I leave you a link? It's at http://tinyurl.com/2c896r7 I mentioned you and linked back to this post.
Thank you for being willing to write so openly about your life. Very courageous.
This is a very inspirational story. The thing that impresses me most is how you dealt with it, and how you overcame it. Having been the victim of ongoing bully-ism throughout my school years, I can so relate to this.
Bravo. This summarizes how every kid who is different than the "norm" goes through. Being Asian sticks out like a sore thumb in white suburbia. Luckily you only endured a few years of it. My relative Vincent Chin was not so lucky. Yes, THE Vincent Chin from Michigan. 1982...
I always find it interesting that the adults I know who were bullied as kids for being different are always the coolest now.
I worry a little about my kids being biracial in the lily white midwest, even though I know in the long-run being different will be what makes them great adults.
We came from a region in WA ST where we knew nothing but 'whites' & it was one rude SHOCK when I got married, moved to CA & found all 'these weird people' walking this earth. LMTY, it was truly a SHOCK. Never had a prejudice against a race ... because we weren't raised to know the word 'prejudice' nor 'racial' issues.
Your story is too common, even today ... for this it saddens me that children do these things to one another ... I think today it is even worse than in our time ...
Bless you & your strengths.