Only Asian Kid in School

I am proud to be Asian today and the beneficiary of modern positive stereotypes, but for the first 20 years of my life, I did everything I could to avoid being called a "chink." I wanted so much to fit in, to be "all-American," to be blond and buxom. To no one’s surprise except mine, it didn’t work. In contrast to the popularity of Asian fashion, food and culture today, in the homogeneity of 1970 Smyrna, kids and teenagers were relentless and made fun of anything and anyone who was different. So even though I spoke with a strong Southern drawl, loved chicken pot pies and read Reader's Digest and Judy Blume books, I was still a "foreigner."

How did I try to fit in? I wore blush to liven up my hopelessly pale cheeks and desperately curled and permed my flat, straight-as-an-arrow hair to get a wiggle of body. [Later, can you believe girls would PAY to have their hair straightened!] I wore a padded bra even though I didn’t need one. I avoided speaking Chinese in public. Still, our mere appearance in stores and on the street elicited racial jeers and the assumption of being a foreigner.

The ugly stuff – name calling, taunting, mostly from strangers—traumatized me, from pre-school to high school. I never understood the “kids will be kids” justification. I still cringe when a school bus full of kids or a carload of joyriding teenagers drive by.

As the only Asian kid in school, everyone thought I was “good at math" and "cute like a chinadoll.” Actually, I loved Language Arts and Social Studies and had a penchant for competitive sports. I had a circle of smart girlfriends and a few guy friends, either geeks or jock pony-tail pullers. One advantage to not belonging to any circle was that I had a diverse range of friends. I was turned down by a sophomore to the junior prom. (I went anyway with my brother in-law's younger brother, a studly, 25 year-old Latino from Venezuela!)

But no boyfriends. I never got asked out on a date or had a kiss before college! My fantasy was to have someone "have a crush on me" or "to go (steady) with a boy." (When I told my mom the latter, she asked, "Go where?") For better or worse, I had to wait.