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

Blasian families are not a rarity

Today we made our usual trip to the laundromat. While waiting for the clothes to wash I followed Daniel as he walked around. As we walked past a black women asked "what is he mixed with"? I thought, that's a new spin on the "is that your baby"? question.

As I looked at her cooing at my son I could tell she was just curious. Besides, she also had a baby boy in a stroller. From his curly hair I suspected he might be biracial.

So I told her my son is half Korean. She replied "I knew he was half Asian, my daughter is half Filipino". Once again I was found by another black mother with a blasian child.

Being found by mothers with blasian children is happening to me more and more. Usually they find me online through facebook or the blog. I'm always amazed and proud when that happens. For so long I've been the one doing the stalking of other mothers. Now it's time for me to be stalked. LOL.

But even as I meet other mothers I still deal with people thinking my community is a "rarity". When I talk about my community to other people they have a hard time seeing it. I think some people think I talk and write about race as a hobby instead of a real life experience.

A few times I've seen comments on my blogs where people say a black women with a half Asian child is so "rare, special or unique". Hmm. I don't agree with all of that.

Neither my son or I are some sort of mutated species of humanity. I doubt people realize what they're saying or what labeling us "rare" implies.

I recently wrote a blog about how people should take the red pill (hat tip to the Matrix movies) so they can SEE the blasian community because we're not some secret sect. Blasian are everywhere and I'm sure part of many people's family tree.

Not to mention at the rate that asians and blacks are making blasian babies we're a growing force in the population. It's exciting to see!

After chatting with this other mother of a blasian child I came home encouraged. We both prove that blasian families are far from being a rarity.

I'm His Mommy, Not His Nanny

Hello, out there! I am the half Korean/half black mother of a 2 year old boy. My son's father is Scottish and Assyrian. My son is a delectable mix of us both and his heritages show on his beautiful face.

Guest Writer: Sheila Greene-Dartley

I'm finally getting around to posting (thanks to Nikki for inviting me) and am sorry it took me so long. I used to blog quite often before I had my son, but now that he's a toddler and asserting his independence, I'm allowed the odd moment to myself.

I live in a predominantly melanin-deficient area of NYC where most of the non-white/namely black-and-brown faces you see belong to either home caretakers or nannies. Nevermind that grew up here- that I have lived in the same place for 30+ years of my life. This is all irrelevant because people just can't imagine that I could possibly live here, or that my son, who incidentally looks just like me, is my son.

I've had more than a few incidences that got my blood boiling. One of my favorites (and the most recent) happened about a month ago. I was in the playground with my son and was supervising him as he climbed on a structure. There were many kids climbing too. This woman comes over with her son and starts saying to me, "Oh, I know his parents" as she gestures to a child who, of course is not my son. I just say, "Oh...okay...." and go about my business. Then she says, "Are you with him?" - meaning the little boy. I tell her that no, I am with him, gesturing toward William. I assume that she'll "get" that William is my son, being that he looks like me and all. She asks me if he has a brother and I tell her he doesn't, thinking that's the end of the conversation.

A few days later, we're in the same playground. This time my husband, who is white, is with me. I sit down on the benches (William had broken my toe...!) and William and my husband play together about 2 yards away from me. The same women ambles by with her son and starts talking to my husband. It went something like this (some paraphrasing, but this is the jist):

Woman: Oh, I saw him the other day (meaning William). Does he have a brother?
Husband: No, he doesn't.
Woman: Oh- there's a little boy who looks just like him. I was talking to his babysitter the other day...
Husband: Maybe you mean his grandmother...? (He'd heard the story from me already and knew where this was going but was trying to give her the benefit of the doubt)
Woman: (insistent) No, no...his babysitter...

...and me, sitting about 2 yards away on the bench. So not only am I the babysitter, but I'm the faceless babysitter.

Some people don't get my outrage about this. They don't understand how annoying it is when people think that your child, the one that you birthed with your own body, is not your own. It's hurtful, angering and frustrating.

If you're not the mother of a biracial/multiracial child/non-white child, then try to open your mind and your eyes a bit before you comment.

Why a box to check doesn't matter

Recently, a friend of mine asked me what I wanted my children to consider themselves as in race. I told her in my home I have no box to check for race...you are who you are.

Guest Writer: Yun Grant

This conversation got me thinking that as they got older they will need to check a box whether for employment or for medical reasons.

I want my children to grow up knowing that they are in fact a person and not defined by "box" to check for race. Yes, they are half West Indian and half Korean, BUT that is only their heritage.

They are BLACK when it comes to the color of their skin. When people look at them, they will see black children...yes they look mixed, but everyone will know that they are BLACK.

I want them to love their black skin, the texture of their hair, their beautiful full lips and noses...everything that makes them unique and beautiful.

What I do not want is for them to feel shunned by the Korean community because they do not have the fair skin, flat faces, and pin straight hair. I do not want them feeling as though they are beneath anyone.

My children are not denying me or my heritage. They are just being themselves. They are being who we, my husband and I, are raising them to be.

I don't feel jilted in any way. I am, however, proud to be their mother.