Asians Who Like Garrison Keillor

Yesterday, Shiaokai and I went to the San Diego Civic Center for a Garrison Keillor concert (concert? show? whatever you want to call a man who is able to bring in a full house by simply sitting on a stool and telling stories). Shiaokai is a big fan of Praire Home Companion, and I bought him tickets to the show as a Christmas present.

I didn't realize, however, until after we'd arrived at the venue, that we seemed to be quite the outliers as far as demographics go. There were few people under the age of, like, 40, and even fewer people who were not White. I'd happily spot an asian once or twice throughout the entire event, but would silently note that they all had significant others who were caucasian. It was like going to a symphony concert, but even worse. It was like going to my big, white church back in Seattle, but much, much worse.

The communities that I have been a part of since college have all been so diverse or academic-based that I sometimes forget that I am still a minority in this country. I proudly call myself an American, cook American food, wear American clothing, engage in American politics, read American books, and obsess over American tv shows...but throw me into a pool of all white people (especially older, white people), and I start getting a little fidgety.

I've lived in the U.S. all my life, but while growing up in Richland, WA from my elementary thru highschool years, I seemed to continually be bombarded with reminders that 1) I was Chinese, and 2) I would never fit in. Richland is a small town in desert-like Eastern Washington that is over 90% White; I was one of maybe 5 asian people in my entire highschool class of over 300, and the only chinese.

It is much better now, but when I was a kid, I swear, there were people there who had never seen an asian person before. I would watch as my parents were scoffed at, for things like not knowing where the line started at a grocery store or how to follow the menus at a restaurant, and then watch as they tried to apologize in broken english; on the flip side, adults would sometimes assume that I couldn't speak english and talk about me while I was still within earshot. I despised the kids at school who ridiculed me for my straight-from-Taiwan outfits that my parents made me wear; I didn't grasp the concept of buying clothes from 'The Mall' until after hitting highschool. I hated that my piano teacher seemed to care more about proper public ettiquete than music, and how she would desperately 'educate' me on proper manners before she took me to performance classes or concerts or auditions that were mostly populated by old white ladies, like herself, leaving me embarassed at the implication that it was beyond the scope of my parents' knowledge. I could go on.

It might not be a stretch to say that when I was little, I was intimidated by white people. They were confident and beautiful and lived in gorgeous homes and the women wore huge earrings and bright red lipstick and lots of fur. I couldn't measure up because I didn't wear fashionable clothing, because my parents couldn't get through the grocery line without having an awkward exchange with the cashier, because my dad didn't watch football and my mom didn't cook steak, and because we never once bothered to make our dingy apartment space look presentable. My parents were far too occupied with the arduous job of raising a kid while finishing their Ph.Ds, and had little time to care about assimilating to the American culture.

Moving to Seattle for college was a relief, and in just a couple of months, I felt more at ease there than I ever did in my 10-year home at Richland. A lot of my childhood anxiety was forgotten. But now and then, I would still see some subtle shades of ignorance. For example, during my prospective graduate student visit to University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaigne, I had the following, very odd, exchange with another prospective grad from Texas:

Him: Where are you from, originally?
Me: Oh, well my parents are from Taiwan, but I was born in Oregon.
Him: Oh. [pause]. Well, your english is very good.
Me: Um, thanks, but I was born in the U.S.
Him: Yes, but still, your english is very good.
Me: Well, I've lived here my entire life so...my english should be about as good as your english.
Him: I see. No, but still, I think it's very impressive. You should be proud.
Me: ...

It should probably be evident by now that this post is not about the Garrison Keillor concert. But since it is in the title, I'll say a couple of things about that too. In fact, Garrison Keillor was very good; the old man lumbered onto stage wearing huge red shoes and showed much talent as he sat on a small stool before a crowd of thousands and delivered hilarious stories from Lake Wobegon for the next two hours. People were friendly. The crowd was receptive. Mr. Keillor was quite endearing. And as I waited in a long line for the women's bathroom, I felt only a small twinge of anxiety when I found myself packed into a small room with dozens and dozens of old, white ladies wearing huge earrings and bright red lipstick and lots of fur.