I remembered something unfortunate this morning, something that happened to me back home in New York somewhat recently. I'm going to share this with you, and I hope it annoys you as much as it did me when it happened because it should.
It was the summer of 2017, and I was on the way home from work. I worked a usual nine to five at a summer camp as a camp counselor of sorts, working with children on academics and things. My role at this summer camp was primarily to assist the head of the program in her work: help maintain social media presence, organize papers and records, call parents for meetings, all that.
In addition to helping keep the office in order, I was also tasked with supervising the children when they were outside for recess. That sounds a lot more simple than it actually was. Put thirty or so elementary school kids in a confined space together and you'll have a rough idea of what I had to manage. And that was just one class; there were 4 in total. It was a little bit taxing of course, but I really enjoyed my job. Kids are charming to work with. That said I ended my days pretty spent, both physically and emotionally.
I really didn't need what was going to happen next.
It's after work and I'm walking down the sidewalk, just a few blocks down from home. Up ahead I see two boys who look to be in middle school playing with a soccer ball in the middle of the street, lazily passing it back and forth amongst themselves. I recognized them; they're twin brothers who live in the house next door to me. We've never spoken, but that's not a big deal. My parents are on good terms with their parents. They're just your average neighboorhood kids, playing outside and enjoying the summer weather.
However, they're now in my way. I'm a little peeved that I have to wait for them to stop kicking the ball so I can pass but that's a trivial matter. They have as much right to be on the street as I do. I pay them no mind, pause for a moment to let the ball roll past, and continue past them on my way home.
I'm about ten feet away with my back turned to them when I hear the older brother say "Konnichi wa? Konnichi wa!" and a bunch of mocking Chinese sounds like "ching" and "chong" to his brother, before busting out in laughter. His brother soon chimes in with the jeering. For those of you that don't know, Konnichi wa is a way of greeting someone in Japanese. To use it like they did, however, is — shall we say — not very polite to an Asian person whom you do not know.
I stop dead in my tracks and feel my hands curl into fists in my pockets. You can make fun of me all you'd like, and it won't bother me one bit. But if you bring my family into the equation or mock my cultural heritage, you're asking for trouble. I see my culture as a gift my parents gave to me from birth. And if anyone dares use that or the people I care about as the subject matter for taunting, I swear I will make that person pay in a way that will make them rethink their definition of "pain".
I turn back to face them, and walk until my face is mere inches from the older brother's. He practically goes cross-eyed trying to maintain eye contact with me. With my voice dangerously soft, I ask him: "that konnichi wa wasn't directed at me was it?"
The boy opens his mouth, but before he can speak his brother quickly interjects.
"He doesn't mean it! He's kinda stupid sometimes, we're sorry."
Both brothers nod enthusiastically in agreement, looking at one another and then back at me.
I simply nod and continue home.
This is the next generation that will inherit the world our parents will leave behind. Pathetic.