I didn't mean to offend...really??

So we are talking down Fayetteville Street in downtown Raleigh, enjoying a sunny (albeit hot) Saturday afternoon, and admiring some gorgeous classic cars.  Not that I would have wanted to live as a woman in the 1950s, but man, some of those Bel Air cars were stunning.  The shiny chrome, deep red paint, and pristine leather seats!  Stunning.  Although I am not sure how a 1986 Z28 Camaro can be considered "classic" in the pure sense of the word - it was a lot of fun.  As we were walking along minding our own business, I took a turn with Christopher down one of the side streets.  As we were strolling along, a man who was standing near one of his cars points at me and yells "Chinese?"  I try and pretend I didn't hear him and just shook my head.  He then says "Korean?"  I could of said, Yes, but instead, because I am who I am, I yell back "American!"  He looks visibly disappointed, and replies, "aw, I was hoping to try out my Asian on you."  At that point, Scott, my usually quiet mate comes up behinds me and says, "so, what are you, huh?, German, English, Irish?" The man then looks totally mortified and as he turns to walk away he says, "sorry, didn't mean to offend."  Didn't mean to offend.  What do these people who say these insensitive, ignorant or just idiotic things think is going to happen at the end of that sentence?  I am a STRANGER!  I do not KNOW YOU!  Why would you think that is OK, under any circumstances?  I am almost tempted to create a T shirt (as I was taught how to do by my cool friend SJ) that says in big, letters - DO NOT ASK ME IF I AM Chinese, Japanese, or Korean.  You will not like the answer.

Ni Hao

So today we were in NYC, at Liberty Island - sitting under a tree eating a snack and trying not waste away in the 100+ heat.  Scott was somewhere climbing up Ms. Liberty's dress, and Christopher and I were doing the only sane thing, sitting very, very, still.  A worker at the park came by, someone who had it worse than us.  Dressed in dark, heavy clothing, gloves, and long sleeves.  Awful.  As he passed I smiled and said hello.  That was my first mistake.  He was of course friendly back, and came over and said "Ni Hao" to us.  The only reason I even now what "Ni Hao" means,  is because I know the line up on Nick Jr. from 7:30 a.m. till 5:30 p.m.  Kai lan and all of her furry creature friends are adorable, don't get me wrong.  Yet once again, we are mistaken for Chinese, and it just perplexes me.  After I gave him a blank stare, he asked directly if we were Chinese.  I said, "no" and of course he had to ask "well, are you Japanese?"  I wanted to say, "no, sorry sir, but thanks for playing - instead of the grand prize on Guess the Asian, you win a one way ticket to ignorantville."  But I was cordial, and replied, "We are Korean."  So, we travel hundreds of miles North, and sit on the island that symbolizes our Nation's basic values, and I still have to be subject to man's utter stupidity.
 

Lucky

I sometimes wonder what my life would be like if I was not adopted.  I imagine it would be very different.  I was abandoned on the steps of a building in Seoul Korea, and brought to an orphanage where tens if not hundreds of other babies sat, waiting for their chance to be chosen.  Why me? Why did my parents pick me? I guess I never got old enough to really be curious about it, and now I will never know for sure.  When I am asked "where are you from", I get to say "NY" without skipping a beat.  For that, I feel lucky.    Happy 235th Birthday USA - thank you for giving me hope.

Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny

Ok, since the crazy train hasn't rolled into my station lately, I guess I'll have to go back to the archives to keep up the fun.  About two years ago I was getting prepped to have a colonoscopy. And yes folks, if you haven't had one yet - watch out - it is a barrel of laughs and then some!  What a way to lose a couple of pounds.  As I'm sitting on the gurney in my oh so aesthetically pleasing medical gown, the nurse comes over to stick me with some needle so the good stuff can flow.  As she is examining my arms she belts out "my my, you have just the teeniest veins I've ever seen. I just don't know where I'm going to stick this needle.  You are just so teeny tiny!"  And she is beaming from ear to ear and I could of sworn she was getting ready to pinch my not so rosy cheeks.  So, for those who know me, know I am petite.  And hey, it has its advantages.  Can we say plenty of leg room on a plane, when disaster strikes no problem here crawling under a desk, and the best part - not so far to fall when I slip and fall on my you know what.  But as anyone who may be on the small side, being called "teeny tiny" isn't good. And it certainly isn't good when you are at your most vulnerable, in some itchy, polyester medical gown, about to prodded where no human should have to be prodded.  But considering she had the needle and I didn't, I just smiled back and counted to 10. My only solace was to think at the end of the day I would be home stuffing my face with some delectable food product and she would be spending the rest of her day looking up people's butts.  Victory is mine!

What's in a Name, Part Deux

As this Father's day draws to a close, I feel grateful that I married someone who no matter what he may mean to me, I know he'll always be a great father to his son.  As someone who has not had a father in her life coming on 30 years, I can only hope that Scott will live a long life for Christopher's sake.  These past 15 months of being a parent, it has been strange and foreign to use the term Dad, Daddy & Father.   I have not uttered those words in a long time.  I don't even call my father in law "Father" or "Dad", as it is just too unfamiliar.  I sometimes wonder if they notice, or care.  Although even if they did ask me out right to call them Mom & Dad, I think I'd have to politely say it's just not something I can do. 

What's In a Name?

Long before I decided to marry my current husband, I knew that I would not be taking another person's name after we were married.  I could say that I decided to keep my own name for the sake of "girl power!" or because I just didn't want the hassle of having to then change everything I own (which to be honest was pretty kick ass). I may not have a sense of my Korean heritage, but I feel as if my last name - Giancola - is the last thing I have that gives me a real connection to my own history.  My parents did not have a son.  My sister took her husband's name.  So I am it, the last Giancola standing (well, the last within the world I care about).  I hope that as our son gets older I can teach and expose him to how special being a Giancola (as well as a Conklin) is - and also let him know that it will be ok if he falls in love with a girl who, for whatever reason, decides to keep a part of their own personal history.

Crack, boom, bang

Although I do still claim to know nothing more about Chinese culture than my Jewish-Italian background would suggest, I do have fond  memories of watching and listening to my mother play the old world game of Mahjong. Every week she would sit at the kitchen table with her female friends, and from the other room you could hear the crack and rustling of the ceramic tiles on the kitchen table.  Sometimes she would let us sit and watch, and I was mesmerized by the swirl of the Chinese characters and pictures of dragons on the tiles.  The women would call out different sayings and flip their tiles over with such speed and precision, it was breathtaking.  I always envisioned one day being "grown up" enough to be taught by a master and play a round beside her.  Something that was never meant to be, but a lovely memory all the same.