Reflections - People Matter

Cup of Tea

I’m naive. 

When I listened to the morning news on March 17, the broadcaster might as well have reached through the speakers and bopped me on the head.

Women of Asian Descent Were

6 of the 8 Victims in Atlanta Shootings [

Unlike racism against Blacks, I’d never personally witnessed or consciously absorbed news about racism against Asian-Americans and Pacific Islanders, but . . .

Asian-Americans were targeted

in nearly 3,800 hate incidents in the past year.

The news constricted my throat and squeezed my heart. Why are we white Americans so afraid of others?

Consider Kayoko.

The only disagreement I ever had with Kayoko was over a cup of tea she brewed me. In the corner of a hallway, where the old Ruffing Montessori School building had a stove at peril to all who passed, she handed me a delicate porcelain cup with a full cheek smile and said, “Thank you.” 

“No,” I countered. “Thank you!”

Kayoko enjoyed kitchens whatever their size or location. She treated her students and any interested teachers to monthly hot lunches in the winter. During the summer, she took campers outside to work in Ruffing’s garden—planting, watering, and harvesting because “It’s no fun to weed all the time.” On the evening of July 24 the year her husband died, we sat on the patio of Dewey’s Coffee Cafe to sip tea and munch cranberry walnut muffins. A rainbow topped the evening as we celebrated our shared birthday. Our day and year matched, but not knowing the hour of her birth, we never figured out who was older. It didn’t matter. In America, that honor belonged to the child born first. In Japan, the older twin was born last. We considered ourselves exactly the same age.

Japanese-American Kayoko isn’t scary.

Deer Creek

Consider Jyungmin.

I gained Jyungmin’s friendship by tutoring her son. She was the consummate party organizer inviting all the Ruffing teachers to her house for picnics on her backyard terrace, complete with an ornamental fish pond. When I stepped inside her house, pairs of shoes sat in rows by the door. “You don’t have to take off your shoes,” she would say, but I didn’t want to break her custom or be the cause of dirtying the clean floors.

After I retired, Jyungmin gathered a group of teachers, packed them in her van, and drove to Wells Wood for visits. On the first, she grabbed my shoulder outside. “You go first in case there are snakes.” On the second, we waded in Deer Creek by the rapids that Spence likes to call Janet Falls because I slipped on a mossy rock and fell there one day. Jyungmin slipped and landed on her bottom shouting, “Don’t anyone take my picture!”

Korean-American Jyungmin isn’t scary.

Consider Diana.

In March 2013 Diana joined the fiction workshop I attended in Cleveland. Once a month I maneuvered to sit next to this kindred spirit and whispered side comments to her until the moderator shushed me. A medical doctor turned writer, Diana impressed me with her writing bravery. Her Thanksgiving story, for example, has the husband invite his ex-wife to the dinner. His current wife and a grumbling, teenage daughter add to the mix. Diana sprinkles humor into the tense, page-turning plot. 

Though I stopped attending the workshops, Diana and I keep in touch. I read her column, The Medical Insider. She reads Janet of Wells Wood and always emails encouragement such as, “This is the funniest story I read about hot pepper. I enjoy you calling them the beast.”

Chinese-American Diana isn't scary. 

Screenshot of The Medical Insider Heading

Kayoko, Jyungmin, and Diana make life beautiful.

The Indian-American, who offered to order silk to make me a sari because I admired hers in college, made life beautiful.

The Indoneasian-American woman, who offered to sew my daughter a dress so she could attend the senior prom with the woman’s son, made life beautiful.

The first grade Pakistani-American who, when I walked into his classroom, ran to beg me for a reading lesson, made life beautiful.

People from the Asian Pacific region belong in my universe. They join the many ethnic groups woven into the fabric that makes America great. Like my Aunt Marge said, “It’s the people that matter.” Not the culture. Not the politics. Not the skin tone.

Asian Lives Matter

Don’t Be Afraid

You’re Welcome in My Universe

It’s Great

Poster from Lisa Wong

Note:

Diana’s The Medical Insider is temporarily on hold, but there are back issues available here.