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“One night, my 3-year-old asked me if she could sleep in my bed. I told her no. She said, “That’s not fair! Why does Daddy get to sleep in your bed?” READ MORE
Mom on the Edge
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A 6-year-old’s birthday party chronicles This year for her birthday, my soon-to-be-6-year-old daughter requested a small family party featuring her 9-year-old cousin doing magic. But no, I informed her. Not only were we inviting everyone in first grade, we were stuffing their homework folders with giant Target-bought invitations that showed, in no uncertain terms, a pink and yellow birthday cake with candles. . . SIX, for clarity! Understand that my daughter attends an area public magnet school where – what with Southern California’s ever-changing demographics – she is the only blonde in a class of 19. Many other families are immigrants – Hispanic, Armenian, Asian, and Russian. Which, in one sense, is a perfect fit for our own household. I am a Chinese-German who looks vaguely Hispanic. Growing up in SoCal in the ’60s and ’70s, I was often the only olive-skinned kid in a sea of white. Decades later, I married a South Dakota Norwegian, resulting in two girls who are not just white but Children of the Corn. We are the reverse of blond fortysomething moms you see in parks, holding adorable Chinese babies. Indeed, some take me for my kids’ nanny. Then I open my mouth. Fueled by my usual 32-ounce travel stein of coffee, my cheerful “Good morning!” is practically a Bavarian yodelaheehoo. So when it comes to ethnic confusion, I say, “Bring it on!” And yet, midway through last year – Year One at our United Nations-style magnet school – I realized some immigrant parents do need training in our humble American ways. While we families were clearly friendly, what with all the smiling and nodding in parking lots, my daughter had been invited to no birthday parties. Zero. And I realized it was up to us to throw down the gauntlet, to open the birthday party bidding, to, if you will, skate first. Yes, our family is an unusual cultural combo (though in a final odd coincidence, my husband and I were both raised Lutheran – what?). Still, in California terms we are natives, old-timers, and it was up to us to man (and woman) the Welcome Wagon. So I dealt the first set of birthday invitations (actually for my daughter’s sister’s birthday, which falls in spring). The picture was of that universal ambassador of goodwill (or at least He Who Was on Sale), Scooby Doo. The party featured pizza, hummus, Mulan gift bags, a pinata in the shape of Dora the Explorer (a Latina) and jump house a la Sponge Bob (who is, of course, from the sea). Never mind that it was basically a “United States of Target.” We had so much fun that since then, the kids RSVP themselves. Because, no matter from what land you’re from, all kids know they gotta fight for their right to pa-a-arty. Sandra Tsing Loh is a writer and mother of two who lives in Van Nuys. Her series “The Loh Life” appears weekly on KPCC 89.3-FM. Her most recent book is “A Year in Van Nuys.” |
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