Make Your Own Traditions - Dear Kid

During this holiday time it seems like everyone assumes you celebrate the custom of Christmas and all the comes with it, that Santa dude, the presents and the belief system.

Dear Daniel

At school they tell you Christmas stories and teach you Christmas songs. On television they expect you to watch the Christmas movies and make a tradition out of it.

But what happens when you come home to me? Do I pressure you with Christmas? No. Because I do not celebrate Christmas. Never really have. See where I come from our holiday traditions are different. It's not about this mystery man who judges you for being "naughty or nice'. No I was raised with a different view of Christmas. But then I was born in another country and raised with another culture.

But what about you? You were born here. Is Christmas to be your culture?

Many people say your missing out or that I'm neglecting you in some why by not celebrating Christmas with you. I don't agree but still I've struggled with the question for the last 2 years. In the end I've decided...it's not up to me to decide.

This is your life and you have the choice to define what you want to do, be and celebrate. From what I know about you I don't think your a fan of Christmas or of Santa but who knows if that will change. As you grow you'll have more peer pressure to confirm to what others think this time of year should be and how you should act.

As your mother, I hope to counter that pressure with alternative in case you want them. I hope to share your different cultures with you so you know there's other traditions you can celebrate. Just between you and me Koreans don't really celebrate Christmas either.

Love you always,
Your Umma

Never Stop Learning - Dear Kid

I'm always amazed at how fast you can learn something.

Dear Daniel

One day you don't know your ABC's and then the next day you do. One day you don't know how to say you name, then the next day you know how to say, spell AND write your name. You are always constantly learning and it's a wonderful thing.


This morning as you sat writing your letters, which seems to be your latest obsession, I watched as the letter changed from unclear scribble to clear defined shapes.

Yes the letters took up most of the space on the paper. Yes you wrote on all sorts of angles instead of straight across but what you wrote is clear.

I can see the A, I can see the M, I can see you figuring out how to make the lines match the shape you know the letters should be.

You want to know something? You've always been this way. Always trying to learn, always trying to do, always trying to connect what you "think" with what you "can do".

From the moment your little mind finds something of interest, it's drives you to achieve some inner goal. I sometimes wonder if that's something I passed on to you. I've been known to have tunnel vision when I want to accomplish something.

Anyway, whether this need to learn is something I passed to you or something that's just all you, I hope you remain this way...always striving to learn and achieve.

Love you always,
Your Umma

Fall leaves - Wordless Wednesday

My son plays with the fall leaves before the winter snow comes.

I love these simple moments of wonder and joy.

After breakfast gaming

After a cup of oatmeal, 2 pancakes and juice, my son kicks back in bed for some gaming.

Ah what a life

Proud to Have a Son - Dear Kid

Today when grandma came to visit and share family gossip about your aunt's (my sister's) pregnancy, she reminded me of the time I was pregnant with you.

Dear Daniel

We reminisced how I knew right away I was pregnant and how it was exciting news for the family. You don't know this but the family has been waiting for me to have a child for the longest time.

But in my mind and heart I wasn't ready yet. What was I waiting on? I'm not sure but when I met your dad and started planning for you, it seems the right time for me. Both my heart and mind agreed so your dad and I conceived you.

But being pregnant with you had an interesting twist. Your dad and I would try and guess whether you'd be female or male. He said male, I said female. I felt 110 % that you'd be a little girl with curly hair, dimples and a caramel skin-tone. I planned on braiding your hair, helping you play with dolls and when you were older explaining the mystery of men to you.

So imagine my surprise when at my 2nd sonogram I saw something I wasn't expecting on my girl baby. Then the 3 little words I didn't expect to hear was said. It's a Boy!

I wont lie to you my son, I nearly cried. I asked the technician if she was sure even thought I clearly saw your defining male anatomy. She pointed to the same area I was staring at in disbelief and firmly said...Yes, It's a boy.

My mom reminded me of that moment. When she saw how disappointed I was, she wondered how it would be for me when you were born. Well 3 years later, she laughs at it and her worry. Do you know why?

Because I am proud to have a son!

Yes, it took me some time to adjust to the world of little boys and the craziness that come with it. Why you run around jumping on things I'll never figure out. But I admit it's fun to watch. I enjoy that you bring such joy and excitement to everything you do. I love your fearlessness, even though sometimes it give me extra gray hair.

I love that your not afraid of bugs, getting dirty or dancing around outside on a snowy day.....like you did today. I enjoy playing with your trains or building blocks high, only to turn around and knock them down. I enjoy your hugs, even though it feels like you have me in a headlock.

I even enjoy watching your assertive personality develop. Yes I admit I was miffed when you started telling me NO or demanding I should COME ON when your ready to go outside.

But I understand it's the testosterone making you talk like you aint got no sense!

As I watch the little man in you develop, I have no regrets about you not being a girl. The bond we share as mother and son is solid and I can't imagine my world without you. Everyday you inspire me in so many ways and make me proud to say I gave birth to a son. You are MY SON and I'll love you always. Don't ever forget that.

Love you always,
Your Umma

White Mamas, Privilege & Racial Mental Tango

I received a very interesting reply to my tweet about what happened to me this weekend. Julie, a white mom, pointed out why some white women/moms wont get why questioning a mother of color connection to their biracial child is upsetting and rude.

I was shocked to see something like that said (admitted) when other white moms would swear otherwise. As I traded tweets with Julie I wanted to learn more about this "white privileged blindness" some white women/moms have.

I asked Julie to share her thoughts on the subject in a guest post and she bravely wrote "White Mamas, White Privilege & Racial Mental Tango".

Please read the post, share a comment and start the dialogue. I think it's important that moms of color with biracial children hear/read/ understand what's really happening in the minds of some white women/moms.

White Mamas, White Privilege & Racial Mental Tango

by Julie Jordan Avritt, who blogs at Duck You Forever (duckyouforever.wordpress.com) and Freelance Writing and Editing (www.freelancewritingandediting.com)

Hypothetical Scenario:

If I’d been sitting at the playground alongside a group of other white mothers when one of them asked me who the light skinned child of a darker-skinned mother belonged to, I would have found myself in the instantaneous psychological tango that never flows gracefully and certainly isn’t sexy.

Let’s say the woman on the playground has been holding the child, offering the child affection, soothing the child’s tears—usual indications that a woman is a child’s mother. But learned stereotypes, less real than imagined, want us to believe this woman, because of her race, is more likely to be the child’s nanny. Still, I would quickly pivot on my mental feet and say, “I’m sure the child belongs to her.”

But the truth is that the dance I’d be doing in my head would be partly obstacle course around my own learned prejudices. I might have looked and wondered for a brief second too, and I have to admit that if I’m interested in honest exchanges about race. Racism is systemic and even when we choose to eliminate it, or further, become social activists around its elimination, we are still called to address it all the time—not just in others, but in ourselves.

As a white person, I’m automatically assumed to be the rightful mother of my child. That’s white privilege. As a white person, I’m less likely to be assumed to be poor, even though I’m a member of the poverty class. I don’t appear to be, and this has partly to do with it, but being white as opposed to being a member of a minority race or ethnicity affects this perception. As a white person, it is more commonly assumed that I am educated and hold a degree or degrees. As a white person—and this one is frightening for what it means about minorities—it is automatically assumed that I am likely to be a decent parent.

Certainly not all white people are assumed to be decent parents, but we tend to think that educated, high income white folks are automatically going to be good at parenting. Hmm. And the opposite is assumed of low income minorities. This is dangerous thinking.

My experience with white people is that the vast majority of us are unconscious of our privilege and what it means, how it impacts others. This is a powerful ignorance.

My experience of folks who are working to unpack our privilege is that we are a tricky bunch; anybody who becomes bogged down by “white guilt” is likely to be sometimes smarmy, sometimes inauthentic, and no help to anyone, including themselves.

We like to debate about white privilege with one another forever, but actually listening to folks of color tell us why the things we believe, say, and do are obnoxious? Never! So, the privilege-ignorance equation regenerates and recycles.

Not long ago the Chicana owner of a social site informed the membership that it was becoming “too white.” (Folks of color were leaving because of all the unmonitored privilege and ignorance.) Her statement actually enraged members; they called it racist.

Racist against whom; white people?

And I should say here that this was a website in the LGBT community, people already very personally familiar with what it means to be oppressed.

My position is that white folks should not look to or expect people of color to teach them about their inherent racisms or the privilege they’re not ready to acknowledge they have. That is a further enacting of privilege. Working to eliminate our inner racism should be work we commit to do ourselves. When I think about the job of mothering, though, I wonder if there isn’t overlap, because I know that support is important, mentors are vital, and believing that we can affect change for the better—in ourselves, and maybe in at least one other little person—is essential. And perhaps also love. A lot of love.

My Black Motherhood: Separate & Never Equal

Last night I sat talking to other black women about being a mom to a blasian child and an asian & black community advocate, when a white women walked over to our area.

She started gushing over my son and then turn to the group of white women sitting next to us, and asked which of the women (white) my son belonged to.

*blink, blink* (where's a hidden camera when you need one?!)

I should mention that my son was sitting in my lap, with my arms around him, playing on my ipod touch that has a case with a photo of us on it.

For all arguments sake it was clear he was with me.

As I looked at this women, who still seemed clueless when none of the white women claimed my son as their own (would they even dare?!), I wondered what she saw....or rather didn't see.

As I turned back to the black women I was talking to, three pairs of eyes collectively rolled together. I think we might have sighed also, but I can't remember.

I do remember the conversation that immediately followed the side eye all 3 of us gave that white women.

• A conversation with comments validating that my son looks just like me
• A conversation that validated that people don't take time to pay attention to anything besides skin-tone
• A conversation about how more people need to know that black women have biracial children that are a different hue, heck even a black mom with a black child can be different hues.

We had this conversation while that white women still stood there, being pointedly ignored by me. Let me tell you, it took most of my will power not to turn around and tell her how ignorant and stupid she sounded. But I've learned not to engage with people when the end result would be pointless.

My point was proven when this same white women, passed my son and I repeatedly during the night and never stopped to say anything, not a sorry for the misunderstanding, not a can I get to know you, not even a hello. Nothing, just kept looking at us and not speaking.

What's even more interesting is this women knows of me in the mom blogging world. We may not be friends in the same circle, but I'm certainly no stranger to her. So again I wondered what she saw....or rather didn't see.

What is it that people are NOT seeing when they look at me as women and mother? This was the thought on my mind as I looked around at the people also at the conference. They were mainly white. While that's nothing new at these types of events, as I entered the area where dinner was being served I felt uncomfortable.

As I looked around to see where my son and I can sit, I made eye contact with a certain high profile mom in the blogging world. The look in her eyes made it clear, in her mind, there's no place for me and my son at this event. I immediately lost my appetite.

As I walked back towards the exit, I said goodbye to the few that were friendly and pointedly ignored the others. Could I have stayed? Yes, I payed the fee to be at this conference, but which mom want to expose their child to people who are confused and unfriendly with a family that's different then their's?

That to me seems to be the answer to my question. People in that world still don't see me on the level with them.

Black motherhood is still a mystery, a black mother is still something to be kept as separate and an outsider. For the last 2.5 years in the mom blog world, I've held my tongue, played nice and paid my dues when dealing with rudeness, discrimination and sometimes out right hostility.

In the end for what?

At an event where I'm suppose to be part of a community of influencers, I'm reminded my "motherhood" influence doesn't apply to them.

Reevaluating Circumcision - Dear Kid

It's Saturday! Time for a Dear Daniel letter

Dear Daniel

After thinking about it last night I think I might change my mind on the circumcision issue. While I still don't like the idea of someone cutting off any parts of you and having you in pain, I'm far more scared of you getting another penis related issue.

I confess I don't have a clue how it feels to have a penis, much less one that isn't feeling well. But I do know how important a healthy penis is for both a man and a women.

As a mother I would feel horrible to find out my choice to keep you uncircumcised resulted in something worse happening that will affect your adult life. Ugh, just the thought makes me wanna cry.

I can't imagine you not being able to enjoy a healthy sexual relationship. Yes I really did write that so stop blushing. By the time your old enough to read these letters, I'm sure you'll already know the basics about sex and females.

But beyond having a healthy sexual relationship, I'm also thinking about your body image. Again I don't know personally but I heard it whispered from a few guys I know that a male's penis is very important to him. Somehow a penis is tied into who and what a guy thinks he is.

My son I have no idea how that connection works but I don't want to deny you this aspect of male psychology, or worse have you live life with a negative body image.

So when we meet with the urologist in a few days I will listen and be open to all the options available to treat your condition. My main goal is to get your penis back to normal working condition.

If after examining all options we find the only solution left is circumcision, then my son I will accept and make that choice based on love.

As your mom it's my duty to love and safeguard all parts of you till adulthood. Yes even the parts I'm completely clueless about.

Love you always,
Your Umma

Enjoy Traveling - Dear Kid

Today we're going to visit another family in Connecticut. Today will be a day of firsts for you. It's your first time traveling on the Metro North, but also the first you're visiting Connecticut.

Dear Daniel

I confess I was a bit nervous about how things will go. Will you be OK being away from all your toys and trains? Will you be OK being on the train for 2 hours? Will you be OK traveling.

As I watch you looking out the window, I think you'll be ok. Having you ok with travel is very important. When I was pregnant with you I would dream of all the places I would take you. I dreamed of taking you all around New York City, then all around the United States and then hopefully all around the world.

I confess I started your "travel" training when you were just a few days old. To the shock and horror of everyone I took you everywhere with me instead of hiding out inside the house. I could tell you enjoyed being outside and seeing the sites. I enjoyed walking and talking with you. Those were our special moments

As you grew, I wondered if you'd develop my wanderlust and love of traveling.

As I watch you looking out the window, I'm proud that your making a start. A start that I hope continues your whole life. Travel my son is one of the best things you can do with your life.

There is more in the world then just our section in Harlem, then our section in New York City, then our section of the United States. There's so much more outside our bubble of a world that I hope you travel and find.

The bigger world is filled with all sorts of places to see and people to meet. People who will embrace you and your uniqueness because they have a more diverse view of life.

I hope meeting different people will help you see life as more diverse and wonderfully varied.

As I watch you looking out the window, I hope this first trip out of state will the first of many. The love of travel is one of the greatest gifts I want to leave you with. Travel well my son.

Love you always,
Your Umma

Recovering from a forgotten 3rd birthday

When I dropped my son off at my families this morning, my sister wished my son happy birthday. Oh no!

While in the back of my mind I knew his birthday was this week, I totally forgot it was exactly today. This is the 2nd most important day in my life! How could I have forgotten?! I felt so awful!

Usually on his birthday morning I like to sing the happy birthday song to my son and have a special snuggle moment just us two. But this morning there was no song or cuddle moment. Ugh. Ugh. I told my facebook community and they were very supportive of my bad mommy moment. Most felt he wouldn't even notice. But still I felt I couldn't let the day past without doing something.

As I wiped my tears, I vowed I'd make it up to my son when I got home.

What did I do? I gave him his own private birthday party. Of course I knew there'd be a mini riot from friends and family not invited to the party so I made a video. Yup, you can all sing along and wish Daniel a happy birthday. Get ready, set, sing!

After his song, he happily ate his piece of banana cake. Funny thing about the cake choice. He was the one who picked it so I don't wanna hear an asian & black, yellow & brown smart mouth references about his cake choice, LOL

Feel free to leave comment so when I finally make this blog into a book he can see how many people wished him a happy 3rd birthday.

Toddler Couch Olympics - Dear Kid

If I've told you once I've told you a thousands times to STOP jumping on the couch but do you listen?

Dear Daniel

Clearly your not listening to me. I don't know what to do. I've spoken to you nicely, I've yelled, I've firmly removed from said couch and asked you to jump on the floor. But none of that works. Still the daredevil in you prompts instant couch jumping as soon as I leave the room.

As I watch you attempt leaps, kicks and other acrobatic feats, I wonder if your training for some toddler couch Olympics I don't know about. That has to be it. Are you training in secret? Did a special note get passed to you while you were on the slide showing off you hangman skills? It's the only thing I can think of why you keep trying to give me a heartache or tempt a trip to the emergency room for a broken body part.

Well if you're getting ready for some imaginary toddler couch Olympics, from the way you've been training I'm sure you'll bring home the first prize. Then all this new gray hair I've gotten will be worth it.

Love you always,
Your Umma

Toddler Laundry 101

My son loves to help and I let do as much as he can. Even doing laundry is fun for him.

I hope his future wife appreciates a man who know's how to do his own laundry

Our museum photo

My son and I had the best time spending the day at the American Museum of Natural History.

We saw Dinosaurs, learned at Festival of Oceania, got our faced painted and watched half naked women during Dances of Polynesia.

What did you do today?

M'Finda Kalunga Garden Asian Black Connection

On our way home after a meeting, we stopped by a local playground. The rain had stopped and since Daniel was good during the meeting, he earned a chance to run around and have some fun.

After running from different slides, jumping in puddles and throwing around wet leaves to see them stick, Daniel noticed the garden across from the playground.

Pointing to the garden he told me he saw flowers, which meant he wanted to go and see the flowers.

Thinking it was just another community type of garden I wandered in with Daniel for a quick walk through. As we enter we're greeted by this older women who asks if Daniel wants to see the chicken's. Chicken's?! In a Chinatown garden?!

Imagine my surprise...not to mentioned Daniel's when we see a rooster and a hen walking around in their cage. While I have seen live poultry before, this would be the first time for my son.

His reaction? Eh. He didn't seem very interested.

But apparently he was interested in the flowers and plants. He happily wandered around, lightly touching whatever interested him.

The garden was actually larger then I thought. There was another section deeper in that we didn't explore due to time and hungry tummies. As we wandered our way back to the exit we posed for photos with some of the beautiful and colorful blooming flowers.

As we left the garden I looked at the plaque to see the name and received such a surprise.

The M’Finda Kalunga Garden (www.mkgarden.org) means “Garden at the Edge of the Other Side of the World” in the Kikongo language. It is named in memory of the “second” African American burial ground that was located on nearby Chrystie Street between Rivington and Stanton Streets.

What is this....something for the Afro-American community within the asian community?! I thought that was very interesting and wondered how this little bit of history affected the mindset of the asian community who come to use the garden.

As my little blasian said goodbye to the garden and it's flowers, plants and poultry couple, I smiled to myself that it was because of him that I discovered this asian and black culture connection.

Bento lunch box lesson

Making our bento lunch boxes....

during the Bazooka "Sweet Tweets" notes event

Can a Black Mama be a Strict Asian Parent

I didn't say anything when my stepson, J2 didn't crack open any of the books or listen to any of the audiobooks I bought him at the beginning of the summer.

Guest Writer: Renee Tecco

I didn't say anything when, as a 16 year old, he and his father thought his summer days would be better served playing video games for 10 hours straight, interspersed with workouts at the school gym and homework from an online class he had to take because he flunked GeoChem.

It had been decided that J2 would attend vocational school but by the beginning of August the paper work for the school was collecting dust on the desk.  I didn't say anything.

But on a mid-August day as I walked past the computer desk I noticed a letter from the school counselor attached to a study book.  Okay, I'm nosy, I read the letter.  My husband J had told me that J2 had passed most of the Ohio Graduation Test (OGT) and only had to re-take one, maybe two sections.

But the letter said differently.  J2 passed one section and flunked four, with the possibly of passing two more on the retake.  For science and math he'll need prayer.

"Dude!" I said calling my husband up immediately.  "What the (bleep) is this!  You told me J2 did okay on the OGT."
"He did do okay," J said.
"No, no he didn't.  He flatlined on four parts."
"He almost passed two--"
"Almost is for horseshoes, not tests." I said.  "What the (bleep), J! We're going to talk when you get home from work.  Somethings gotta change."

And it did.  A couple of times.

First I contacted the high school counselor to sign J2 up for a vocational program, which is at another school but through the local school.  Because he waited too long to sign up the school closest to home was filled so we signed him up for a another one further away.  And because we were late signing him up we didn't know that school started that week --on a Friday.  What school begins the school year on a Friday?  And it was mandatory for parents to attend a two hour orientation that morning which I elected to attend since I was on vacation and J had to work.

By Thursday the following week I was withdrawing J2 from the school and putting him back into his regular high school.

We didn't like the school because his non-vocational classes (English, math, science) hadn't assigned any homework.  J2 didn't like it because it compelled him to get up early to catch a bus, the kids were loud and the school looks like a factory.  He really stressed the fact he didn't like the other kids.

"You know what you have in common with those kids?" J asked only waiting a second for a reply.  "You don't like to do homework."

So the next day, a Thursday, I spent the morning re-registering J2 for his old high school, withdrawing him from the vocational school.  When we went to the high school we both sat down and talked to the counselor.  She expressed her sadness that J2 was leaving the vocational program and asked J2 if he was really ready for the work the high school had.  Although the school is a public school it's also highly competitive.  For 9th and 10th graders they offer foundational classes for core subjects but in the 11th grade things become accelerated, nothing but college preparatory and honors classes.

"You're going to have to do 2 to 3 hours of homework a night," she explained, still with a sad look on her face.  "Do you think you can do it?"

"Yeah," he said half heartedly.

"Because..." and she went on to explain to him how everyone loved him there.  The teachers really loved him and thought he was sweet and kind.  The kids really loved him and he was popular.  But gently, very gently she relayed that she didn't think he was capable of doing the work.

Then we I explained to her that I thought he could do the work.  That I thought he had some bad habits that we haven't been able to break but I was sure that he could get him college ready.  We excused J2 and the discussion got deeper.  She brought out his grades, (which I haven't seen because I relied on my husband's account of what J2 earned) and saw that his GPA was low and class ranking near the bottom.  Could J2 get college ready?  Was I wanting more for him than he could deliver?  Or more than J2 even wanted for himself?  And the more she talked I began to get the picture --they think he's slow!  And looking at his grades it was hard to argue against the point.

So we decided to have him tested for learning disablilities both through school and with his doctor.  We set up the first meeting where we the three of us (J2, J and myself) sat down with his high school teacher and school counselor to decide on a plan of action for attacking school.  The teachers weighed in on what type of student he was in class, the school counselor said he would get tested by the school psychologist and my husband and I said, "okay".

J2 was nonplussed.

It would take a few weeks for the second meeting, where we all gathered to find out what type of student J2 was.  When we got home J went straight to bed and stared at the ceiling.

"I blame myself," he said.

"Well, I kinda blame you, too," I replied.

"It's because I wasn't around when he was younger," J said.  His eyes were moist and his voice sad.  "His mom said she didn't know how to help him with his homework in 5th grade and

In the meantime I began to tutor and sideline coach J2.  No, just because something is

Your Sebae Honors Me - Dear Kid

Words can't describe how I felt today when I saw you Sebae (Korean New Year's bow to parents).

Dear Daniel

When I planned on celebrating family day for the Korean New Year, I just wanted to share one more thing about Korean culture with you. It's my love for you that inspired me to start attending events at the Korea Society.

It's my love for you that helps me ignore the drama I get from friends and family for sharing your culture with you. It's my love for you that strengthens me when I have to be the only black mother in a room of Asian moms. It's always about my love for you....

Little did I know that today I would get that love back in an unexpected way. When we went to the Sebae section it was just about taking a photo and learning about the tradition.

When the man sitting there offered to teach you how to bow, I was surprised. Honestly I didn't think you'd let him teach you. Then when you tried to get away by squirming around I figure that was the end of it. But for some reason that only you know, you changed your mind.

As the women, also sitting there, instructed me to take off my shoes and sit down, the man moved you into position. As I watched you kneel down and figure out what to do, my heart ache with the joy of it. As your little body bowed down I nearly cried.

I chose to cheer and praise you instead for being such a good son. In a room filled with Korean's my blasian son gave me honor as his black mother.

I'm not sure what the people in the room thought about us, and to be honest I dont really care. Because in that one moment all the stress, fears, and tears that I've had to deal with from the moment I saw those two pink lines didn't matter.

All that mattered is a mothers love for her son was being returned and honored with that one simple gesture of bowing.

Happy Korean New Year my son.

Love you always,
Your Umma