What do I think about Jeremy Lin's recent success playing for the New York Knicks? Thanks for asking ...
In a word: historic. I grew up playing basketball in the Japanese American leagues in LA, with the Gardena FOR Supersonics, where (at a very average 5' almost-2") I got to play all positions, including my favorite -- center. I seriously thought all Japanese American girls had leagues like this, and that most Japanese American girls played basketball (since that's what it was like in the world of Gardena). I thought that I would someday grow up to play with Bill Walton for the UCLA Bruins. Of course, that didn't happen, but when I did go to college, I went up to the Fifth Floor of Payne-Whitney and ran in pick-up games with all the Asian American ballers. I witnessed the graceful defense of Alex Te, the lithe and lanky Larry Ng posting up on the very sturdy Ben Sun, the signature snake-like drive-to-the-hoop of Vernon Wong, the rebounding hops of Michael Chai, and the yes-I-am-a-badass strut of Glenn Tokumaru, running the point and just about everything else on the court. Yes, those were the days. The glory days of AASA hoops. (Okay, maybe the glory days happened before or after I was there, but I am going to remember them that way, regardless.)
Our games were peppered with exclamations of "Doctor J!" or "A-keeeeem!" -- or any number of dubious and wishful comparisons. Now, I am guessing, there will be more than a few shouts of "JEREMY LIN!!!"
I was, literally, moved to tears when I saw the highlights of Jeremy Lin's first winning game with the Knicks. Yes, I cried. Laugh if you want to, but I know I'm not alone. In addition to him playing so well, he has also carried himself with such humility -- in a league where egomaniacs rule, it is so incredibly refreshing. I think this is a huge part of his appeal.
The only part of the Linsanity that has been uncomfortable is the inevitable race-based signage -- slanty-eyed caricatures, "who says Asians can't drive?", "Yellow Mamba" (in response to Kobe, the apparently self-proclaimed Black Mamba), "Asians love MSG" -- some of which has been created by Asian Americans, which I don't quite get, but I have chosen not to get all worked up about that since I would rather enjoy this Lincredible moment in basketball history.
I hope this is not the end of Jeremy Lin's run, but even if it is -- J.Lin has made history, and I think we will see a greater openness to Asian American basketball players in the future. Any AA ballers who are coming up now can thank J.Lin for being a pioneering force.
My husband is getting annoyed with me, calling me names like "Jeremaniac" and telling me I've gone "Linsane."
I plan to get him an NBA League Pass for Valentine's Day ;-)
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
american accent
“Hands up! Hands up!” my mom yelled. I could hear her, vaguely, as I did my best to get my hands up and play some defense. I must have been in fifth grade. I was finally on the court, no longer the little sister watching my big sister’s game – I was actually on a team now, and doing what I could to try not to mess up.
It was interesting to see my mom get so excited about our game. She had played basketball in high school, and was the captain of the Fukushima High School girls’ team. My dad was the captain of the boys’ basketball team, and the two became high school sweethearts. He was relatively tall for his school, and he had mad dribbling skills, as well as some serious hops, with which he developed his signature hanging jump shot. You could try to block that shot, but you’d better be ready to hang up in the air for longer than gravity normally allowed.
My team was victorious, and we jubilantly left the gymnasium, the small group of moms and dads funneling out onto the playground toward the parking lot. My mom walked alongside two of the other moms, Mrs. Jung and Mrs. Tabuchi, and I’m sure she was feeling pretty good, just another mom. Just like the other moms.
This day should have been a completely happy one. There was nothing my mom did that should have brought her any disdain from the other moms. She always tried hard to be a dutiful wife and mother. When my father had coached my sister’s team, she had even made individual ball bags for all the girls on the team, crocheted net-style bags in red, white and blue. All-American.
I trailed a step behind, walking with some of my teammates, and I was taken aback by what I heard next. My mom was making small talk, saying something innocuous about how the team did. In response, the other two moms – instead of replying back to my mom, turned to each other, and, as if my mom had disappeared and was no longer walking right beside them -- mocked her Japanese accent. “Oh, ‘hands up’ -- I was wondering what she was saying! I thought she was saying ‘Honda! Honda!’” said Mrs. Jung, and Mrs. Tabuchi agreed, with a laugh.
I was stunned at their rudeness, and could only imagine the sting of their laughter as I noticed the fleeting look of surprise on my mom’s face. It was there for an instant, and then it was gone, replaced by a smile. Now she was smiling again, just like the other moms, laughing along with them, even though she knew she was the butt of the joke. What else could she do? She knew she had an accent. She knew she was born in Japan, unlike most of the other moms. But she had allowed herself to forget, for a moment, and think that this fact didn’t matter. The other moms, however, apparently didn’t think about what they were saying – or, perhaps, they were consciously or subconsciously trying to remind my mom that she was not one of them. She was different. She was not American, and didn’t speak “perfect” English.
Even as an adult – perhaps, more so – I am struck by their insensitivity. The other moms were Chinese American and Japanese American -- the casual observer might even assume they had a bond because their ancestors had all come from Asia. How could they be so thoughtless? I wish I had not learned the lesson of being polite, and had come to my mom’s defense, telling them, “You’re being rude. Leave my mom alone!” That, of course, would have been the opposite of what my mom would have wanted. She was, after all, trying to fit in and not be left alone. And, I suspect, she was not doing this for her own benefit – she was doing this for me. For her children, she would endure whatever ridicule she would have to, be the team-player, not make waves. I’m pretty sure these other moms didn’t give this a second thought, and I went on to play for years with their daughters, even into adulthood, and still consider them my friends. But it is something I can’t seem to forget. Looking back, I don’t remember my mom coming to too many of my basketball games after that.
I’ve never talked to my mom about this. For all I know, she doesn’t even remember this. I hope that’s the case. I was reminded of this incident recently because of a movie my daughter watched at the middle school, which had a scene in which the Chinese waiters sing “Deck the Halls” in a fake accent, belting out, “FA RA RA RA RA, RA RA RA RA ~” much to my daughter’s chagrin. She was one of two Asian American girls in the class, and they shared a brief eye-rolling look of annoyance as they sat quietly through the end of the movie. Then, some of the boys in the class began singing that line, over and over again, “FA RA RA RA RA ...” One of the most amusing things about this (for me, at least) was that my daughter, in her recounting of this, noted that “There is an ‘L’ sound in Chinese! There’s no reason for the Chinese waiters to sing it with an ‘R’! They could at least be accurate!” The girl had a point. The family in A Christmas Story should have gone to a Japanese restaurant if they were so set on using the accented “Deck the Halls” scene, since, apparently, there’s nothing like a good laugh over a Japanese accent.
UPDATE: Since I wrote this, the now infamous DebbieSpenditNow Hoekstra campaign ad hit the airwaves. The ad features an Asian American actress using grammatically incorrect English, but, oddly, speaking without an accent -- which just goes to show that you can still be racist and insensitive, even without mocking an accent. Maybe the actress was trying to maintain some of her dignity by not doing an accent, or maybe the directors thought nobody would understand her if she used one. I'm betting on the latter.
It was interesting to see my mom get so excited about our game. She had played basketball in high school, and was the captain of the Fukushima High School girls’ team. My dad was the captain of the boys’ basketball team, and the two became high school sweethearts. He was relatively tall for his school, and he had mad dribbling skills, as well as some serious hops, with which he developed his signature hanging jump shot. You could try to block that shot, but you’d better be ready to hang up in the air for longer than gravity normally allowed.
My team was victorious, and we jubilantly left the gymnasium, the small group of moms and dads funneling out onto the playground toward the parking lot. My mom walked alongside two of the other moms, Mrs. Jung and Mrs. Tabuchi, and I’m sure she was feeling pretty good, just another mom. Just like the other moms.
This day should have been a completely happy one. There was nothing my mom did that should have brought her any disdain from the other moms. She always tried hard to be a dutiful wife and mother. When my father had coached my sister’s team, she had even made individual ball bags for all the girls on the team, crocheted net-style bags in red, white and blue. All-American.
I trailed a step behind, walking with some of my teammates, and I was taken aback by what I heard next. My mom was making small talk, saying something innocuous about how the team did. In response, the other two moms – instead of replying back to my mom, turned to each other, and, as if my mom had disappeared and was no longer walking right beside them -- mocked her Japanese accent. “Oh, ‘hands up’ -- I was wondering what she was saying! I thought she was saying ‘Honda! Honda!’” said Mrs. Jung, and Mrs. Tabuchi agreed, with a laugh.
I was stunned at their rudeness, and could only imagine the sting of their laughter as I noticed the fleeting look of surprise on my mom’s face. It was there for an instant, and then it was gone, replaced by a smile. Now she was smiling again, just like the other moms, laughing along with them, even though she knew she was the butt of the joke. What else could she do? She knew she had an accent. She knew she was born in Japan, unlike most of the other moms. But she had allowed herself to forget, for a moment, and think that this fact didn’t matter. The other moms, however, apparently didn’t think about what they were saying – or, perhaps, they were consciously or subconsciously trying to remind my mom that she was not one of them. She was different. She was not American, and didn’t speak “perfect” English.
Even as an adult – perhaps, more so – I am struck by their insensitivity. The other moms were Chinese American and Japanese American -- the casual observer might even assume they had a bond because their ancestors had all come from Asia. How could they be so thoughtless? I wish I had not learned the lesson of being polite, and had come to my mom’s defense, telling them, “You’re being rude. Leave my mom alone!” That, of course, would have been the opposite of what my mom would have wanted. She was, after all, trying to fit in and not be left alone. And, I suspect, she was not doing this for her own benefit – she was doing this for me. For her children, she would endure whatever ridicule she would have to, be the team-player, not make waves. I’m pretty sure these other moms didn’t give this a second thought, and I went on to play for years with their daughters, even into adulthood, and still consider them my friends. But it is something I can’t seem to forget. Looking back, I don’t remember my mom coming to too many of my basketball games after that.
I’ve never talked to my mom about this. For all I know, she doesn’t even remember this. I hope that’s the case. I was reminded of this incident recently because of a movie my daughter watched at the middle school, which had a scene in which the Chinese waiters sing “Deck the Halls” in a fake accent, belting out, “FA RA RA RA RA, RA RA RA RA ~” much to my daughter’s chagrin. She was one of two Asian American girls in the class, and they shared a brief eye-rolling look of annoyance as they sat quietly through the end of the movie. Then, some of the boys in the class began singing that line, over and over again, “FA RA RA RA RA ...” One of the most amusing things about this (for me, at least) was that my daughter, in her recounting of this, noted that “There is an ‘L’ sound in Chinese! There’s no reason for the Chinese waiters to sing it with an ‘R’! They could at least be accurate!” The girl had a point. The family in A Christmas Story should have gone to a Japanese restaurant if they were so set on using the accented “Deck the Halls” scene, since, apparently, there’s nothing like a good laugh over a Japanese accent.
UPDATE: Since I wrote this, the now infamous DebbieSpenditNow Hoekstra campaign ad hit the airwaves. The ad features an Asian American actress using grammatically incorrect English, but, oddly, speaking without an accent -- which just goes to show that you can still be racist and insensitive, even without mocking an accent. Maybe the actress was trying to maintain some of her dignity by not doing an accent, or maybe the directors thought nobody would understand her if she used one. I'm betting on the latter.
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