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Home Archives Facebook Twitter Subscribe Tuesday, December 10, 2019 Speaking Up It happened in a swanky Bay Area hotel. We had finished a long day and had gotten together to debrief and socialize before all heading back to our homes throughout the Bay Area and beyond. It was a work event. Everyone was enjoying finger foods and drinks and making small talk. We talked about the weather. Because that's what you do. And that's when one of my colleagues (an older White man) casually made a joke about how someone's wife was so cheap that she won't turn on the heater until it's below 40 degrees. He said something about her being Asian and implied that her cheapness was due to her Asian-ness. I was so shocked. I couldn't believe my ears. The anger welled up from inside me. I looked at him directly and spat out the words. "She did that because she's cheap! Not because she's Asian!" I turned to the Southasian American woman colleague, let's call her Priya, sitting next to me and asked, "Did he just really say that?" She replied, "I know. That's so R word." I said, "Yeah, that's hella racist! I can't believe he just said that." Priya agreed, "I can't believe he said that either. I am shocked." He went on chatting with other colleagues close to him, not acknowledging my comment or apologizing. The moment was over. Except I kept thinking about it. I couldn't let it go. I told my husband about it. We talked about it at the dinner table. I told my friends. I posted about it on Facebook. I even told some of my coworkers. Someone said I should report him to HR. I looked up the compliance hotline number. I didn't make the call. He was going to retire soon anyway, I won't have to work with him much longer. Fast forward a couple months. I had a final meeting with this group of colleagues and the perp happened to not be on the call. As we concluded the call, I felt like I should say something. If there was a perfect time to bring this up, it was now. I hesitantly said something like, "I'm not sure if this is the right place and time to bring this up but, well, I am doing it, and um.. well, at the meeting we had after the event, Paul (that's not his real name) made a joke that made me uncomfortable... and I'm not sure if any of you remember and some of you were gone already so you weren't there when it happened but I thought it was inappropriate and I've been thinking about it a lot. He made a joke..." I told them what he said. Priya chimed in, "I remember it and I've been thinking about it too! He was talking about so-and-so's wife!" It was even worse than I had remembered it. Apparently, he was talking about a coworker's wife! We talked about what had happened and how inappropriate it was. How insensitive. He should not be making jokes like that. They acknowledged the difficulty in talking about things like this and thanked me profusely for bring it up. For saying something. They said that they were so sorry that this had happened. They affirmed my feelings. He had told borderline jokes before and needed to be aware of the impact of that kind of behavior. Know that it was not okay. They asked if it would be alright with me if one or two of them had a little chat with him. They wouldn't mention my name, of course. I said that that was fine. I got off the call feeling so supported and affirmed. They had responded with such kindness. They took my concern seriously and agreed that it was not right. A small part of me had been scared that they would dismiss my concern. It's because he's so old, they might say. Or he's retiring soon. Or the worst, "That's just the way he is." But they didn't. They applauded my courage in bringing this to their attention and assured me that they would address it. What he said was not okay. They were not okay with it. I am in the middle of reading How to Be an Antiracist by Dr. Ibram Kendi and I think I was putting what I learned from the book into action. I was trying my best to be antiracist. I raised my voice instead of being silent about a racist behavior in the workplace. Although it was scary, I was so proud of myself for speaking up. Afterwards, I felt free. I could finally let it go. - Mary (Cross posted on my personal blog here .) Posted at 02:07 PM in anger , belonging , Books , Culture , Mary , Racial insensitivity , Racism | Permalink | Comments (1) | | | Monday, July 29, 2019 A Diary of a Codependent Mother It’s been too long. I’ve been obsessively working on my latest book for the past year. Now that it is published and am onto my next projects, I want to take a moment and share something with you before I get so caught up that I forget to do so. When I began my “Pearl: Memoir of a Pain Runner,” I didn’t intend at all to write this chapter the way I did. But I did. I am inspired to share a small part of the chapter with you, Kimchi-mamas. It is not pretty, but it is the truth. Here is it. Chapter 31 A Diary of a Codependent Mother It was a beautiful hot sunny afternoon in Maui. I had just finished selling almost all of the lunch plates that I had made on the business strip. Dan was always in tow. I always shopped for my catering groceries in the afternoon, prepped everything, then woke up at 3 a.m. and started the cooking of all the plates that I would sell/deliver by 11:00 a.m. It was hard work, but I never had so much fun with work until then. Dan was a sweet little three-year-old going on four. We were almost all out of the meat that day. I made chicken and beef ribs. There was no need to make a vegetarian meal. No one bought them. When we pulled up at the wholesale meat warehouse, Dan asked if he could hold onto the keys. He loved keys, as many kids do at that age. I handed the keys to him and that made him happy. We left the wholesale meat warehouse with 30 pounds of English short ribs and 30 pounds of chicken thighs singing dinosaur songs together. We were happy. When we got to the car, I put the two boxes on the top of the trunk and asked, “Dan, can you give mommy the car keys back?” He said, “I don’t have them.” “Do you think you might have left it in the store?” “Maybe. I don’t know.” he said. We ran back into the warehouse. We looked everywhere, but my keys were not there. We walked back outside to where the meat boxes were sitting on the trunk of my car under a hot son. I kept asking him where he may have put it to which he answered, “I don’t know.” After a time, I begin envisioning all the meat thawing out. I would lose hundreds of dollars. I panicked. I said, “How could you lose mommy’s keys? I’m so mad at you. You were supposed to hold onto them.” I repeated the same words to him, my voice escalating each time. Poor guy, he looked so sad, but I let myself yell at him over and over again. My heart breaks now thinking about how he must have been feeling. I wonder what he must have been feeling. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I was not thinking at all. I was just wound up in a ball of anger. After venting my anger at my poor little guy, I stopped to wonder if they might be in the car. I didn’t think they would be, but I thought I should just check. It is painful writing this now, thinking about how I must have made my little son feel. What if I had paused and searched instead of letting myself get so upset. The keys were in the back seat, so he must have dropped them back there. The meat had not been thawed. As I began driving, I felt so guilty looking at my innocent little son’s face in my rear view mirror. He was smiling and happy as if I had done nothing wrong. I said to my son, “Dan, what mommy did is wrong. I should not have yelled at you, and no one should yell at you.” He said, “It’s ok mommy, when I’m a grown-up I won’t lose your keys.” His instant forgiveness and kindness made my wrong even worse. He was only a little child. I was the adult. I lost my head and yelled at him. It took some years to grow to full size, but I believe that day, the yelling monster was born inside me. Yelling grew and gre...