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  • Drama Mama: Not alone

    By Anjalee Deshpande Nadkarni July 10, 2008 9:22 pm

    I was the only South Asian kid in most of my elementary and middle school classes. If by some twist of fate, an Indian kid did end up in one of my classes – we strictly observed an “ignore or suffer” ideology in hopes nobody knew we were different. It was the late 70’s and 80’s my parents moved from a rather diverse neighborhood to a very white one. They moved because the diversity was making them nervous. They were immigrant parents of the 60’s, they were prone to believing stereotypes and what they saw sensationalized on television. The new school seemed nice enough until kids started name calling in week one. It could have been my braids, or my name or the fact that my house smelled of spices. In my lowest self-esteem moments I thought it was just me but I saw it happen to other non white kids as well. I was branded with cooties and the rule was that no one was allowed to talk or touch me or they might “catch” them. This lasted from 1st through 5th grade. In second grade I gave a boy named Brian a valentine. He was a very blonde boy and for reasons I still can’t comprehend, that hair color was a fixation for me during many of my school girl years. When I told him I sent him a valentine he dumped out his entire pouch on his desk and went through each one asking me if it was mine, and when he finally got to the right one, he tore it up without opening it and laughed. I laughed too – so it wouldn’t seem like he’d hurt my feelings. But he had. I had put serious time into the thing and I felt lower than dirt. Somehow, later that same day I wrote a valentine to another unpopular kid saying that I hated him. Looking back, I have no idea why I did this. I must have just been trying to disperse the bad feelings I’d been experiencing. He told the teacher and she pulled me aside and scolded me as he watched. I was so angry at her, angry that she hadn’t noticed what had happened to me earlier in the day. When I got home that day I cried and cried and when my mother asked what was wrong I said she wouldn’t understand. I never did tell her.

    We just moved to a predominantly non diverse Pennsylvania town. When people refer to the ethnicity and culture of the area they are referring to the Amish. I worry for my son. My friends and loved ones tell me it is a different time but I don’t know. I don’t worry about him not knowing more Indian types, that will happen in time if he wants. I worry about his peers and if they’ll accept him. I suppose that’s common. I’d like to think I’d know what to do now, that being first generation south Asian American, that I’m better equipped than my parents were. Yet, he still has an Indian name. I still cook with spices. I remember when I got to college and all the sudden the very characteristics I had been trying to hide (and successfully so by high school) became unique and attractive. It became cool to be Indian. Many of my friends tell me that this is common in most elementary schools these days. I hope so. I really do. I just don’t quite believe it. Kids are mean. Elementary school kids can be down right cruel. I guess the difference is that if he came home crying and didn’t want to tell me why, I have many stories like this one to share with him. If for no other reason than letting him know he’s not the only one. I wish I didn’t have these stories. I hope he won’t either. I am hoping that if he meets another Indian kid in class that he’ll be able to be friends with him. That in acknowledging that they are different, they will have something in common. That alone would have made my elementary school years much much better.

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Comments on Drama Mama: Not alone

  • It takes a village.
  • Posted by Dr.K on July 11, 2008 at 12:30pm EDT

  • I remember reading a piece in my undergrad student newspaper. It was written by an Indian student who was finding her voice after years of marginalization in the American South. Among other things, she wrote of being stared at when going about with her family with her nose ring and saris. It stopped me cold, because I knew I had stared at South Asian girls -- not as oddities -- but as beautiful princess-like visions draped in gold and silk and long, thick braids. How I envied them!

    From this point in my life, I can see that staring and typing are to be avoided, even if there are positive associations. The point I want to make is that, even in Memphis, TN, I was raised to value cultures other than my own. My mother exposed me to Spanish and Latin. My father insured that we travelled throughout the country. My city hosted an annual international festival featuring a different country each year, and the festival theme was incorporated into the elementrary schools' curriculum. Both my grandmothers were into Asian art, and one traveled the world.

    Yes, kids can be cruel, but usually in an environment that encourages cruelty. When parents, school officials, and pop culture value diversity, children do, too (as long as they are not made to feel that their own culture is lacking). Since you are concerned about your son, you should make a point to share your concerns with his teachers, so that they can be more sensitive than yours was that Valentine's Day. You could provide the school library with materials that celebrate South Asian culture. You could be involved with the other parents in a genuine way that reveals both your similarities and differences in lifestyle. In other words, without necessarily getting involved in resolving your son's conflicts for him, you could contribute to a culture of acceptance.

  • Posted by anjalee on July 12, 2008 at 9:15am EDT

  • Thank you Dr. K. Your post is very helpful. I am grateful for your insight.

  • Mothers
  • Posted by Sally Brett on July 15, 2008 at 12:25pm EDT

  • The lesbian mothers wrote a letter to the church group, asking that their daughter not be ostracized for her parents' preferences. Of course, these are the same mothers who told my daughter that they preferred their blonde darling play with other children--not her. Because we are of color? No, we are all white. Because my daughter was the outsider, the one whose mother didn't belong to the mothers group just as she didn't to the girls clique.

    Maybe it matters more with daughters than sons, but from my thirty years of mothering, it seems to me that half of a child's acceptance into school groups depends on Mom. Someone has just written a book about this, but rather than add another bead to the rosary of mother's guilt, I'll just say, Try to make a friend among the other mothers, one whose son can play with your son as you both have coffee. Just make a pleasant comment at the next orchestra rehearsal or soccer game or as you drop the kids off for school ask if anyone is up for a cup of coffee at the nearest cafe.

    Offer to conduct a cooking class in a particular favorite snack for your son's class, or to bring the beautiful saris for them to hold and drape. Better yet, have your son explain about the the coolest technology or snake or whatever attracts the attention of little boys that came from his mother's home country. He needs to be confident in his own skin.

    Caution: Do not try this in middle school!

  • Posted by Jane on July 22, 2008 at 12:50pm EDT

  • Pennsylvania is described as big liberal city on either end and Alabama in the middle. Rural PA is not exactly known for its diversity. You will have a hard time making friends as people tend to stick to their own. They grew up there have family and friends and aren't looking for new friends. Honestly I don't think it is the best environment for your son. Horizons tend to be limited. But you are there, now what?Based on my experience in PA, I would recommend getting to the big cities as often as you can to show your child there is life beyond the cornfields. (2) Enjoy the cornfields and the ruralness of the area. It's postcard pretty. (3) Find a few good friends, all you need is two or three. Be careful as you will find many people asking favors of you but curiously unable to return favors. We used to joke (in a sad way) how people in PA always had their hand out to take, take, take from us, but giving was not on their radar.

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