For a moment, I'm June Cleaver

It was time to pick up my son from school after jazz band. My son was waiting with his buddy, Gabe, and I loaded up my little car with bass, amp, guitar and two boys.  Just as we were almost ready to go, my son's teacher rode up on his bicycle and started to chat with me. While we were talking, another boy who looked like he knew my son started hovering about. He looked familiar. As Mr. Scherman rode off, the boy peered into the car window ... not saying anything, but still ... hovering. My it-takes-a-village maternal instinct kicked in, and I could not leave him standing there, cold-heartedly driving off as he gazed at us driving off into the distance.

I waved to the boy and asked, "Do you need me to call somebody?"
Boy whose name I didn't know: "No, I don't need to call anybody."
"Are you waiting for somebody?"
"No."
"Do you want a ride?"
"Oh, okay, sure, if it wouldn't be too much trouble," he said, lugging his baritone sax into the car.
"Is it okay for you to get a ride? Do you need to call somebody?"
"Oh, no, it's fine if I get a ride. I don't need to call anybody. Thank you."
The boy was very polite, and he knew my son, and he looked familiar, and he didn't live too far, so everything seemed fine. It took me a while to realize that I had never met this kid before -- I had mistaken him for his twin brother, who was my son's classmate.
Of course, I didn't realize this until we were half way to his house, and my son blurts out, "Okay, so, like, are you Max or are you Charlie?" Apparently, my son didn't know who he was, either.
"I'm Max ... no, just kidding, I'm Charlie."
Now that we had that settled, we continued on our way only to drive past a boy who looked a lot like Charlie, carrying a large instrument as he walked down the street.

"HEY, MAX! SEE YA LATER!!! Ha ha ha ha ha!" yells Charlie, as we drive past his brother.
"Oh -- that's Max? I might as well stop and ..."
"NO!!! Noooo!!!! Don't stop the car! No, please, please ..." Charlie seemed to physically deflate as I slowed down the car and pulled over to the side.
"... give him a ride home, too." I could see Max running over, going pretty quickly for somebody carrying a big instrument case.
"Would you like a ride home, too?"
"Oh, thank you, Mrs. Oyama. Thank you." Max climbed in and my little car was just about at maximum capacity with all the instruments, amps, backpacks and boys.
Fortunately, we were only a short ride away from the twins' house.

I parked the car and got out to help dislodge the boys and their gear from the car. As we are unloading, one of the twins -- not sure which one -- remarks, "I wasn't sure who was driving the car -- I thought you might be Miles's sister. You look young for your age!"

Well, it wasn't the most artfully stated compliment, but I will take a compliment wherever I can get one. "Oh, thank you!" I happily reply. "Thank you for the ride!" the twins call back, smiling widely.

As I drive away, I am still enjoying the compliment, but suddenly I start to feel a sense of de ja vu. Well, not quite de ja vu ... it's more like ... nostalgia. And it takes a while to sink in, but I suddenly realize that I feel like June Cleaver.  

I've been Haskellized.  And, actually, I think I like it!  Maybe I'll go put on some pearls and bake some cookies now.

[Note: I wrote this last year but apparently never clicked "publish post"; I saw one of the twins today during my library duty.  I can't tell you which one, but he was very polite.]

like father, like son

For Valentine's Day, I just had to share this story of father-son bonding. I'll call the dad "Big Daddy." The story goes that Big Daddy's sixth grade son recently started showing an interest in girls. Big Daddy is extremely happy about this, in the way that moms get excited when their daughters start showing an interest in shopping.

One day, the boy wanders into the media room to find his father watching the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show. Instead of changing the channel or shooing his son out of the room, Big Daddy tells his son to come on over and watch the show.

Son: "What is this?"
Big Daddy: "It's a fashion show."
His son sits down and his eyes become transfixed on the television set.
Big Daddy is enjoying this special time with his son -- their first Victoria's Secret Fashion Show viewing together. Scantily clad women with really big wings parade before them. Father and son, spending some quality time together.

After a few minutes, the son says to his dad: "I can't believe anybody would actually buy those wings."

Some things just cannot be rushed. In due time, Big Daddy, in due time.

NOTE: My husband requested that I clarify that "Big Daddy" in this story is not him.  If it were my husband, I would have called him Big Poppa, not Big Daddy.  

Oyama Mama Lawn Sign Drama - continued

The lawn sign drama update -- part 1 and part 2.

big buttons

My friend Joe looks down at me as I am buttoning my Woo Stassia coat, and comments,
"Whoa, those are some big buttons you've got there."
"Joe, I love it when you talk about my big buttons," I quip, knowing that he will find this amusing. He is, after all, always ready with a one-liner -- and I know this because we have known each other for over two decades now.

When I first met him, he was on a basketball court, even though it sometimes seemed that he was playing football. Off the court, he was usually wearing his Doc Martens, jeans, a t-shirt and a leather jacket. He wore his hair shaved around the back and sides, longer and slicked back on top -- clearly the inspiration for Gavin Newsom's current hairstyle. When we went out to a club, he wouldn't (or couldn't) do the Cabbage Patch. "Do your own dance!" he would say with a smile, as he busted some unique move that he must have created himself or learned during his days as a Valley Guy. He is one of the few people I know who is skinnier and in better shape than he was twenty years ago, but aside from his trimmed down physique, he is the same Joe to me. We used to bond over things like how to cut and roll a room, back in the day when we used to paint our own houses -- before we had kids.

The occasion for seeing Joe (and Nancy, Bill, Debbie, Tim, Ada, Jin, Peter, Steve, Onilda, Jackie and "the kids") tonight was a Happy Super Chinese New Year's Bowl Party, complete with chips & guacamole, calamari, roast duck, pressed duck, chicken, ribs, crab, shrimp, fish, chow mein, two different seafood & veggie dishes, fried rice, sticky rice, duck & organic greens salad, seven-layer jell-o, and a berry trifle made with Chinese sponge cake for dessert. Orchestrated by Debbie and Bill, we somehow managed to find a date when all of us and most of our kids were available to spend a few hours together. As we sat around the dinner table, we talked about how we all knew one another, and it was interesting to see that all of my relationships in that room were somehow tied to my summer clerkship for the Asian Law Caucus in 1987, when Bill took me with him to play basketball. It was great to just have some time together, talking about the old and the new; potty-training puppies and college applications; affirmative action and domestic violence; lumpia and egg rolls; Top Chef and CNN; the Cardinals and the Steelers. Real conversations in real time. Friendships that started out with being connected by something other than a Facebook link. Wow. What a concept.

Thanks for a great evening, and a toast to all the pre-Facebook friendships out there. And, yes, Joe -- I do have some really big buttons. I look forward to showing them to you again sometime soon.

happy holidays

The holidays are an emotional time -- for our kids, I'd say it's mostly good emotions, except for having to listen to me say that Santa can still change his mind and leave a lump of coal in their stockings if they don't clean their rooms. For me, it is mostly good, too, but the holidays have become more melancholy as the years, and loved ones, have passed. The Christmas holiday was a special favorite of my late mother-in-law's, and I know that my husband's annual desire to buy a fresh-cut tree stems in large part from his childhood memories of their house -- Laila's house -- decked out it all its holiday glory. The family was never very religious, so theirs was a Christmas celebration in the American pop-culture sense, where it is okay to be happy and joyful, even if the "true meaning" of the holiday is heavily filtered, at best. She used to say that "Christmas is for the kids," so it is always bittersweet to watch our kids -- two of the four grandchildren she never met -- enjoying her favorite holiday.

It is sad, but fitting, that her birthday and the day she passed are bookends to Christmas. I always think of her on her birthday in mid-December, and immediately feel inadequate as I look around at my barely-decorated house and think about my yet-to-be-written Christmas shopping list. After the mad scramble of Christmas and New Year's, I am always reminded of her on the anniversary of the day she passed, remembering the sadness that filled the house, Laila's house, on that day.

And, inevitably, when I think of her passing, I think about her last Christmas with us, and all the Christmases she gave to her family over the years, and how she managed to make the holiday special. Happier times. I suppose this is one of the intangibles of the holidays: the imprint left by these occasions are somehow magnified over time. As the number of people we lose grows, the positive memories of these special times seem to expand to fill that void. Lai's Christmas day festivities, topped off by Christmas dinner on fine china. Memories of "Dad," my father-in-law, making his special signature Christmas morning dish -- the appropriately named, "Special" -- and the family calendars he would distribute, each child's, grandchild's, aunt's, uncle's, cousin's, son-in-law's, daughter-in-law's, and grandparent's birthday written in by hand. Memories of my father, always happiest in his element, surrounded by his brothers and their families, holidays filled with card games, mah jong and plenty of kids running around. Falling asleep in his lap after having too much fun with my cousins, and being carried off and tucked into bed.

If we are lucky, it is these happier holiday memories that endure -- and, hopefully, we manage to create some of these for our kids, too. Happy holidays, everybody.

The "N" Word

I remember when our babysitter, Katy, reported to me that my daughter had told her that one of our books-on-tape had a bad word in it -- the "N-word" -- but we still listened to it anyway, even though mommy told them they could not use the word. I cringed. I had wondered when this would happen. When I would be exposed for allowing my children to listen to a tape that included the "N-word": nincompoop. Even though I used the word as I sang along with the Oompa Loompas as they described the fate of poor Augustus Gloop, I had admonished the kids that name-calling was not allowed, and they should especially not call each other nincompoop. I explained to Katy, who laughed, since she had already gotten my daughter to confide in her and tell her what the "N-word" was, at least in our household.

I am not sure when we had the conversation about the "N-word," the "J-word," the "C-word" and other racial epithets, but both of my children are well aware of these words now, and how these words have been used as instruments of hate and divisiveness over decades and decades of American history. Which is a good thing, since we were faced with a particularly ugly reminder about this issue on the eve of the election of Barack Obama as president.

On November 3rd, somebody spray painted the real N-word on the door of an African American teacher at one of our city's elementary schools. Even though the police had been called in, I could find no news reports about the incident until after the school district decided to inform the community about what had happened in an emailed letter dated November 21:

Dear Families of Piedmont Students:

On November 3rd, the day before the national election, a hate crime was perpetrated upon one of our teachers at Havens Elementary School. Specifically, a racial epithet was written on the wall outside of the teacher's office. To respect the victim's privacy, this information was not shared until now. A police report was filed within the hour, and the District is continuing to investigate. Although the offending word was removed within 20 minutes of being reported, the effects of this crime continue to reverberate; this event has hurt our community.

The Piedmont Unified School District will not allow the benign acceptance of hate crimes. In the coming weeks, we will examine how we as a District and community can work together to strengthen our collective response to hate crimes in Piedmont. The Appreciating Diversity Committee has already met to support this work and discuss with us a course of action. We ask for your input and your active participation in our work ahead. On behalf of the District, though saddened by this incident, I look forward to working together to move us forward in a positive way.

Sincerely,
Constance Hubbard
Superintendent

To date, this is the only official information we have been given about the incident. There was scant coverage of the incident in our local papers; you can read one online news account here.

After we returned from Thanksgiving break, information slowly trickled through the community that the perpetrators were rumored to be three seventh grade boys from the middle school. Their identities -- although kept hush hush by the school district -- were pretty well known within the school, since all three boys were suspended. Those five days may have seemed long to the individuals involved, but I was taken aback when I realized that this was the extent of their suspension.

I attended the school board meeting last night, with my children, to hear the presentation by the board and a handful of speakers on this topic. I expected to hear some anonymous details about what the punishment was for these boys, whether the police were involved, etc. Unfortunately, there was merely a vague statement about working with the victim in determining the consequences for the perpetrators of this hate crime, and that was about it. There was talk about "formulating policy" to deal with such incidences in the future. All of this is well and good, and definitely necessary -- but why the shroud of secrecy? Shouldn't the community at least be informed that the perpetrators have been caught and what their punishment was?

The only fact that made me feel better about this is that I learned through my many discussions with other parents that the five-day suspension seems to be the maximum sentence that is given out around here, even for the most serious infraction. Even if you stab somebody in wood shop. Or stalk another child and assault him on the way home. After you are caught and found guilty of such crimes in Piedmont, you serve your five-day suspension, and you are back at school, good to go. As if nothing happened. Good for the perpetrators, not so good for the victim/classmate in the cases of the stabbing and assault. At least the perpetrators in the hate crime incident are students on a different school site, so the targeted teacher does not have to run into them on a daily basis.

When I first heard that the rumored perpetrators were children that I knew, I was in shock. But even more shocking has been the silence around this incident, the suppression of information that might lead to a reaction from the community at large. As one parent said to me, "In many other communities, an incident like this would have led to loud outrage." Definitely not the case here. With virtually no information about the incident, the district has managed to muffle what little reaction there has been, or might have been.

The perpetrators are back at school now. As if nothing happened.

UPDATE: 12 December 1008 -- I attended a middle school board meeting today, and was pleased that the principal started out the meeting with a discussion of this incident. Based on the reaction of the parents in the room, many of them were not aware that the perpetrators were from their child's school, and that they had already returned to school. When I asked about the length of the suspension, the administrator referred to a "maximum" suspension of five days, which I subsequently found in the California Education Code. (At least I now know that there is some basis for the five day limit. However, based on the Education Code, it seems that there is also some discretion in applying a "suspension" versus suspending a child pending possible expulsion, where a child could feasibly be suspended for longer than five days and ultimately returned to the school without being expelled.) In this case, it seems that a longer suspension-pending-expulsion-hearing might have been in the best interest of the perpetrators, who were out of school just long enough for kids to figure out who they were -- and then returned to school to face their peers. The principal reported that the perpetrators had been subjected to some verbal harassment, and that this was being dealt with through a mediation that was set for that morning. It was encouraging to see that the principal was sensitive to the fact that some students would feel some animosity towards the perpetrators, and had taken efforts to stop the escalation of this sentiment. Some parents in the meeting seemed surprised at the idea that other students would harbor ill will towards the perpetrators; as if all the kids should be expected to act as if nothing had happened. When I raised the issue of whether the perception that perpetrators' suspension was rather brief fed into the frustrations felt by students and the broader community, the response of other parents in the room reflected the sentiment that such "details" should not matter now, that this issue is over and done with, just a prank that the perpetrators didn't really understand, and what we need to do now is immediately move on and "heal" the community. Apparently, for some, there is no connection between the details and the processing of the issues at hand.

It will be interesting to see how we progress. On the one hand, there were many voices who spoke and said all the right things, and the school seems to be taking a pro-active stance to prevent this from becoming a bigger issue than it already is. However, at the same time, there seemed to be more emphasis on encouraging compassion for the perpetrators and fearing for their safety, rather than trying to understand, validate or acknowledge the animosity felt towards them because of what they did.

Perhaps, in this community, it is more important to show compassion towards boys -- who will be boys -- rather than actually attempting to understand the wounds from which we are trying to heal.

UPDATE: I was waiting to post quotes from local press articles that I assumed would be printed after the meeting, giving more details about what had happened. The Piedmonter, one of our two local newspapers, stated in an article on December 19, 2008: "[t]hree 12-year old Piedmont boys are waiting to learn their punishment for spray-painting the 'N' word across a Havens Elementary School wall." The timing was interesting, since we know the boys had already returned from their suspensions at that point. However, I am grateful to The Piedmonter for treating this issue as newsworthy, and at least attempting to provide some follow-up information regarding the perpetrators. It is more information than we have received from the school district or any other local paper.

Oyama Mama Lawn Sign Drama

It has been just over a week since the election, and I am still quite happy about it. This seems to be a common phenomenon within the Obama-nation. I had the opportunity to travel with my family to Seattle for the long weekend, and you could just sense the joy as we traveled to another blue state. My "Japanese Americans for Obama" button sparked joyful comments by random, happy strangers. One person suggested we start the process of passing a constitutional amendment to allow Obama to serve three terms.

Unfortunately, my joy is not shared by everyone. A couple of my neighbors, in particular, seem tired of the Obama afterglow, so much so that they have told me -- not asked me, but told me -- that I should take down my lawn signs. "You really can take the signs down now. We know he won. You can take the signs down." Both neighbors made their suggestions separately, on two different days -- one on the day after election day (when I was putting out my second and third Obama signs that I had just gotten in Ohio), and the other just today, as I was taking out the trash and attempting to do some yard work. They made their suggestions to me in a nice, polite manner, of course, but I could not help thinking: would I have done the same to them, had the tables been turned? After pondering this question over several Dilletante chocolates, I have come to the conclusion that no, I would not have felt entitled to tell them what they should do with their McCain Palin lawn signs, even if they did make me feel like puking (had the Republicans won). McCain was on the Tonight Show with Jay Leno last night, commenting that "America does not want a sore loser." Apparently, my McCain-supporting neighbors did not get that message.

I think I am going to leave my original sign out on my lawn until the inauguration. It has been up since the primaries, and I think it is fitting that I keep it displayed until he takes the oath of office on January 20th, 2009.

Hey, maybe I'll make a countdown lawn sign:

ONLY 67 DAYS UNTIL OBAMA PRESIDENTIAL INAUGURATION