A Stupid Person at the Grocery Store

We were in line at the grocery store when the woman in front of us asked my daughter where she got her eyes. She'd been watching Little J for awhile, and suddenly began talking to her. Little J immediately sensed that this was a strange woman, as did I. She moved behind me and did not answer the woman. I don't blame her. I had no idea what the creepy lady was asking, either, until she added, "You didn't get them from your dad." Then I knew what she was after. She was making a statement about the racial differences between me and my daughter.

She continued, saying that she bet Little J got her eyes from her mother. Little J slid further behind me, and I smiled awkwardly and gave her an "uh-huh." Even after she commented about how pretty Little J's eyes were, neither Little J nor I felt very comfortable. I think we both sensed that the purpose of the conversation was not about how pretty Little J is. Rather, the purpose of the conversation seemed to be about how Little J's racial mix was unexpected and perhaps disturbing and unnatural. After all, the woman was implying that Little J should have had eyes, and other physical features, more in common with her father.

I have experienced a lot of racism from people when they encounter me (Caucasian) and my wife (Chinese) together. They seem to think that if we were more normal, we would have been able to find someone of our own race to marry. I have learned to ignore such people. But I have a very difficult time refraining from gouging out the eyes of people who extend their racist attitudes toward my children. Yes, my children do not look exactly like me, and yes, they are Chinese-American. Get over it! And by the way, my children are also smarter, kinder, more understanding, more talented, better looking, bilingual, and able to function in two cultures because they are Chinese-American. Deal with it!

Avoiding the Reciprocal Rule

In an effort to curtail name calling in our house, three years ago I instigated a rule that if you call someone a name, then that automatically means the name applies to you, too. The rule quickly became known as the reciprocal rule, and it was highly effective. Within a few days, name calling dropped dramatically, and has continued at the same low numbers since.

Sad but true, I am now clearly the name-calling-est person in the family, which means I bear the brunt of the reciprocal rule. I always seem to be quick with an insult, such as “worthless piece of kid” or “you’re such a girl.” I have taken my punishment without complaint for a long time, thinking that perhaps I would be able to change my name-calling ways and clean up my act. But after several months of being a “dork” or a “stupid piece of stupid,” I’ve realized that I’m too old to be able to change my ways. And I'm sick of hearing Little J say, "Dad, reciprocal rule!" So I've decided to turn to trickery and deception to get out of the rule. After careful thought, I identified a loophole. I discovered that I can preface my insults with phrases that turn my name-calling into hearsay or friendly queries. For example, I could say something like, “some people might call you an annoying twit for doing that,” or, “Don’t you think that makes you a mindless zombie?” And then if they tried to invoke the reciprocal rule, I could act completely surprised and misunderstood, and then passionately claim and defend my innocence. Ah, a foolproof plan at last! Bwa ha ha!

Or at least it seemed foolproof. The biggest problem with the plan is that I keep forgetting to preface my name-calling with the appropriate qualifying statement. For example, I often burst out with something like, “twinky-nosed child” before I even know what I’m doing, and no matter how fast I say, “8 out of 5 dentists claim that you behave like a twinky-nosed child,” I invariably get the reciprocal rule invoked against me, even when I finish my rephrasing well before they shout “reciprocal rule.” Just as I seem to be too old to stop calling names, I also seem to be too old to remember to use the new phrases. So I’ve been successful in avoiding the reciprocal rule about two times.

I need a new plan.

Triop Wars

J-girl took Little J to the Living Planet Aquarium a couple of weeks ago, and together they decided that the time was ripe to raise triops again. J-girl took advantage of me being at work to commandeer the small fishbowl on the windowsill above the kitchen sink, the one that we use to hold the brushes we use for scrubbing dishes. I came home to find the bowl full of water and the brushes lying forlornly on the counter. A day or two later, the triops began hatching. At first there was a lot of interest in the triops. Little J was excited to see which ones would get eaten and which would survive. She fed them regularly and even cleaned the water once. She and J-girl would count them several times a day to see if any had been cannibalized. However, they soon became desensitized to the violence and gradually stopped watching them. Yesterday, as I was washing my hands at the kitchen sink, I noticed that the last one was feeding on the carcass of the next to last one. All that was left of loser was its head. The winner seemed to be eating its brain stem. Yuck!

I mentioned it to Little J, thinking that this was the supreme example of violence that she had been craving ever since she bought the box of triop eggs. She was doing something at the computer and couldn’t be bothered to look. No one else wanted to look, either. It wasn’t because they were grossed out like me; it was because it just wasn’t sensational enough for them to quit what they were doing and walk 20 feet to the windowsill.

That’s the moment I realized that doing science, especially raising triops, was just one more way that Satan is undermining the moral fabric of society. If I had really been paying attention, I would have recognized this sooner. After all, triops have feelers like horns and a long, evil-looking tail. They get more and more red markings as they grow. It’s not much of a leap from there to conclude that they must be the devil’s angels.

We still have half of the eggs left. I don’t think that anyone intends to start the process over again, at least not for a while. Death and carnage is no longer exciting enough to clean out the fishbowl. I’ll wait another week or so, and then I’ll quietly take the bowl back over. Everyone will be so glad they didn’t have to clean up the mess, and I will be glad to get Satan out of my house.

Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes

I’ve been running out of creativity lately in primary. I wouldn’t say that I’ve reached the point that I’m boring, but for the past two months or so, I haven’t caused any of the primary leaders to wonder if I’m on drugs. In fact, I’ve been far too normal. I feel like I should always trigger a touch of fear in the primary leaders, leaving them to wonder (and dread?) what crazy stunt I will pull this week, and whether I will finally go too far. But instead, I’ve just been delivering somewhat standard primary chorister stuff. I worry that soon they will start describing me as “predictable,” or worse yet, “pleasant.” Such words should never be used to describe a primary chorister.

So I walked into junior primary on Sunday determined to shake things up a bit. Before the primary presidency could get set, I started teaching the children actions to the words “bees,” “toads,” “mouse,” and “crows.” Then I announced that we would sing the popular children’s song Head, Shoulders, Bees and Toads, ending with eyes, ears mouse and crows. The teachers giggled nervously, Sister Willey gave Sister Stringham that “he’s whacked again” look, the kids enthusiastically bumbled and leaped, and I experienced a touch of renewal. Truly I am most at home in primary when I’m certifiable.