*kendraspondence*

There is a powder blue vinyl sign that circulates throughout our Korean church circle.  Whenever one of the children turns one, someone rents this sign for picture-taking purposes.  It says:

Congratulation.  First Birthday Party.

Yup.  Only one congratulation for that first birthday.  And in case you were wondering what we are doing all of a twitter about that first birthday?  We were having a party.  Aren’t you glad there was a sign to tell you so?
It’s a rough translation.  And the black-as-licorice stain on my soul loves it, relishes in the fact that this poster exists and keeps getting borrowed and strung for every first birthday celebration.

For so long, it was my comfort.

I’d go to church and find myself cornered, the object of ridicule or warped curiosity.  I didn’t understand.  Why were the elders always asking me if I was pregnant when I wasn’t, if I cooked Korean food for my husband when I’m not Korean, when I was going to stop working when I had no intention of doing so, and when I was going to have a son when I obviously had no control over the outcome.

Your birthday sign says “Congratulation.”

And you keep using it.

And you have no idea how funny that is to me.

But in the last year, this mental tug-of-war has ceased. I let go of the rope, to quote my friend Lora.

I have come (finally) to understand a generation and a culture that places no premium on insulting an individual.  I had perceived it all wrong.  These elders were actually fulfilling their role in making me feel noticed, and therefore making me feel welcome as part of a family.  Because family is king to this generation, of this culture.

I am generalizing here.  But this generalization is doing its job to help me get out of my head.  And this past weekend, when the chorus of questions about whether or not I was having twins just kept repeating its bitter refrain, it was all I could do but laugh and enjoy the first birthday party, wishing a sincere Congratulation to everyone.

Crazypants week!

Said hello to a new dolly from Nana Red.

Then bid adieu to Nana Red (after having many laughs over Baby Girl’s shenanigans).

Said hello to all thirty-ish of my new students! Was totally shaking before class. Professor Nervous Nelly! But my first class went fine and I think I will have them eating composition out of my bare hand by the end of semester.

Then we said hello to my in-laws, and Loverpants’ grandmother from Vancouver.

Baby Girl was especially fond, as in squealing with delight whenever she found him with at least one arm unoccupied, of her Uncle Joe.

She was also a big fan of Pennie the puppy, and the feeding thereof.

It was our sadness to have to say goodbye to all of these fave peeps once more…Life’s comings and goings are sometimes overrated, no?

I have returned to my cold compact home unit after five days spent at my in-laws where the climate indoors is warm and dry enough to make you have Hard Booger Nose. The last five days were much like a religious retreat, the kind where you’re forced to go without television and internet and where you spend a lot of time talking about epiphanies and reading and sitting around on couches in a circle and laughing and being reminded that family and laughter and navel oranges are really the essentials in this life. Of course, the retreat was held in honor of Baby Girl, in celebration of her first birthday, which is on the horizon but which we observed with my entire immediate blended crazy fabulous family all around, too.

I am glad to be back in my own home where my nose runs naturally and where I eat sparingly the soy and kimchi and rice-based foods that are the cuisine of my in-laws but which make me start tweaking for some greasy cheese pizza after a few days. But as I sit here on my commodious couch with freshly-folded laundry and half-read books and write this account for all of you dearhearts while Lovey Loverpants watches Jack Bauer say serious things to threatening villans, my heart feels very filled and I am still on my retreat high. An excellent spirit to carry into this new era of hope and change and Together We Can….

***

Auntie Shannon

Harmonee

Nana Red

Auntie TP

Pennie the Weiner Dog Roasting by the Open Fire

…and a preview of her Korean Princess photo-shoot:

I pulled my ballot from the envelope after passing the Vietnamese clerk, the Cambodian registrar, the African-American police officer, and, looking down at my Korean-Irish daughter, the firstborn American citizen on her father’s side, I began to tell her how important it was to vote, and I couldn’t get the words out, I got so choked up. This happens to me almost every time I vote – the swell of pride, the taste of tears. It is such a precious freedom to me, right up there with the right to worship the god of the corn muffin (if you so choose) and not be sent to the slammer, as well as that whole freedom of not being set aflame if I leave the house without my male escort. That’s a nice one.

It’s a beautiful E-Day here in Bostonland.  The ladies at the coffee house down the street gave me a free cup, not for voting, but because I had no cash. Baby Girl is going commando around the house as a home remedy for this pernicious diaper rash of hers. Yes, we’re feeling mighty free in all respects today. It is good to be an American, today and everyday, you betchya.

I am breezing out of Sociology 101 as I head to catch the shuttle back to my apartment. I am feeling uncomfortably disconnected from the hyper-involved life I once knew as a college student on campus.

Then I see the flyer. “Come help the sisters of Alpha Kappa Alpha help the community.” They are making peanut butter sandwiches for a soup kitchen. I call the number.

“I’m just studying here with the Washington Semester program,” I explain to the sorority community service chair over the phone, “I go to school in Pennsylvania. And I really miss doing community service.”

Her tone is hesitant but polite; it is as though she is fielding a call for a modeling gig with someone she knows fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.

“And you said your name is Kendra?” she asks one more time before giving me the details of the dorm lounge they will be meeting to make the sandwiches.

***

The next night I take the shuttle to main campus and I feel like a proper co-ed, riding the bus with a motley crew of overprivileged, overcaffeinated co-eds on their way to all manner of classes and activities and bars.

I approach the front desk of the dorm asking where I can find a particular lounge. The student receptionist looks at me, hesitating, you’re going to the AKA meeting?

It is at this moment that a cardboard match strikes the flimsy sandpaper of my brain and I am enlightened.

I have signed myself up for an event hosted by a black sorority.

They were trying to recruit women. Maybe women whose names are Kendra. Kendra is the blackest name for a white girl in the book.

I am an infiltrator.

***

The doors of the lounge have an narrow window peering through. My worst fears have come true. If I don’t go in, I can turn around and no one will miss me. If I don’t go in, I will also never know what it is like to force myself to go into a room where I am in the complete and total minority.

***

I try to compensate for the silence with my Mid-Western friendliness; I am so overcompensatingly friendly, I sound like I have swallowed a helium tank.

We make sandwiches.

My sandwiches are inconsistent. I am sweating like a pig.

“I just saw your flier, yep! Just really miss doing community service. Yep, just here for a semester!”

The women are strong-faced. They are proud. They have no idea why I am there.

***

One girl calls her white roommate to come down and it is obvious she is a pity pinch-hitter called off a bench of illegal substitutes, there to make me feel better.

***

I tell this story over and over as if by telling it, the utter chagrin will eventually evaporate. But every time I tell it, I just feel more ashamed of how small my worldview was, how ignorant and presumptuous it was to assume my right to join, to be.

***

Happy 100th Birthday to the Sisters of AKA.