Right under your nose

When people ask, “what’s in a name?” the first answer that comes to my mind is a no brainer - your identity as a human being. Your name is precious to you, isn’t it? In the melting pot of America, this country has amassed such diverse names. I have learned about the names of the English, Irish and Germans, since I believed my ancestry was drawn from those nationalities. I have not tracked my DNA to prove my ancestry yet though. As traveling the world became possible, people from all over journeyed to this land of the free to start a new life. We now have a rich variety of nationalities that form the American nationality.

Back in the late 1970’s, a little white girl living on Buttercup Lane in a small rural town didn’t know too much about the big wide world yet. The names of the people who crossed her path were not “foreign.” That little girl was me. My community at that time was full of what I thought were different looking people — some with dark hair, others with light, some big, some small, some short, and some tall — but all in all our skin color was mostly shades of white. The word “diversity” wasn’t abuzz back then. I had never seen or met a person with dark skin until that day I met him, the kid with the funny name and different way of talking. I couldn’t understand him when he spoke. Now I realize, I didn’t take the time to understand that young Asian boy when he chose to talk to me.

We were outside on a chilly but sunny day during recess. I don’t recall what either of us was doing at the time but the events of the day would be etched in my mind for a long time to come. I must have thought it’d be amusing enough to catch the attention of others to use his name in a childhood game of duck, duck but instead of saying goose, I said his last name “Vu”. This tiny boy with dark skin who spoke with an accent was smaller than me. I took aim at him because I thought I could. There I was, this cute little white girl singing his name in a common childhood game and dancing around him. I paraded about calling his name in a pathetic attempt to entertain others. No one was laughing. No one was entertained that I treated another person like a thing to be made fun of simply because he looked and sounded different. 

I couldn’t see how angry he was getting until his small hand and protruding knuckles came into contact with my nose with such force that it knocked me on my butt. I’d like to use another word in place of “butt” since I was truly behaving like one, but this is a professional post so I’ll refrain. The blood flowed out my nose onto my yellow and blue striped scarf, turning the yellow stripes orange then a bright red. After I was scooped up by teachers and carried to the nurse’s office, bawling my eyes out, I don’t remember any teachers or my mom talking to me about what I did. I don’t remember anyone asking me why I did such a terrible thing that provoked another person to use violence to lash out at me for hurting him. It’s only until much later in my life did I realize how cruel my behavior was in treating another child like he was not human, likening his name to an animal used in a song in a game. I was a racist bully. I have struggled with my shame but am now at peace with it. I feel it is possible to realize the racism we learn as a child and carry with us into adulthood can be forgiven, and that we can right our wrongs.

Some would say I didn’t know better as a child. My response to that dismissal is, I didn’t learn better. No one stepped up to the plate to teach me I was wrong. If I had learned better as a child that what I did was racist, maybe I would have done more to rid myself of my racism as I grew into adulthood. It was only until much later in my life when I made tending to my mental health a priority, did I realize the pain I recalled from that day, was the pain of guilt over what I did.

Today, after seeing and hearing the hateful speech tied to COVID-19 and what the Asian community has endured over the last year, we as Americans need to learn better. It is our responsibility to recognize when we are hateful. It is possible to be racist and be a good person at the same time. Good people recognize when their bad behavior stems from their racism. Good people feel the pain of their guilt and figure out the only way to rid our pain is to deal with it head on. Good people take the time to get help from others and learn where their racism comes from, then find a way to stop it from spreading like an awful disease does.

Let’s not take years to realize racism exists in our world. Let’s face it and stop it from poisoning us. We don’t need to wait until red blood flows to know that it’s right under your nose.