As a woman of ambiguous race, I am intrigued. I must read this book.
I say "ambiguous" on purpose. If you know me, you probably know my racial background: I am half-Japanese on my mother's side. This is not, however, apparent to anyone who does not know me. My proof is in how regularly I am asked, in terms ranging from very vague to very blunt, what I "am." (For the record, I prefer when people are straightforward. If you ask me vaguely, while I know exactly what you really want to ask, I will answer you vaguely.)
This is the story of my life.
Growing up half-Japanese in Texas made me somewhat of a cultural anomaly. Most often, I would be classified as "Chinese (light skin, squinty eyes)," though occasionally I might be identified as "Mexican (brown skin, dark hair)." Never white, though. And while I'd been born and raised in white-bread America, eating corny dogs and playing hopscotch with American-born, English-speaking parents, somehow, that was never the part of me that interested people. They saw in me something different--which, I might add, is every child's worst nightmare--and were quick to point it out. "Foreigner!" said my sixth grade crush, bringing me to tears. At that point in my life, I didn't see anything Japanese about myself when I looked in the mirror. I didn't even know how people could figure out I was Asian just by looking at me.
By high school, and through college, I had decided to run with it. I made myself the butt of many jokes. I called myself the "Cracker Jap," I joked (with my half-Korean friend) about starting a band called "Soy Sauce on the Side," and I claimed that the Weezer song "El Scorcho" was written about me (to be fair, I still kind of think that). I (quite successfully) pretended to be related to twin brothers in my major solely because we were all half-Japanese.
Now, in my adult life, I hardly think of my race until someone brings it up. I am culturally very American, so far-removed from my great-grandparents who immigrated to the United States so many years ago. Yet still, it is a part of who I am. As we consider names for our firstborn son, we want to honor that part of my heritage and give him, as my parents gave me, a Japanese middle name. It's a small tribute, but he won't likely carry obvious physical evidence of his heritage, nor will I be able to pass on much of the cultural heritage. But I hope that our son will be better able to embrace what makes him different and unique among his peers than I was in my youth.
