You're a what?...

In this great melting pot we call America --- wait --- allow me to correct that. We are not really a melting pot at all....

 The goal of the United States of America is, or maybe was, to be a melting pot; "Give me your tired, your poor......"

But we are a lot more like a tossed salad; just layers and layers of different vegetables (yes, I'm aware that a tomato is actually a fruit.....don't be so damn nit-picky....) all piled into one big bowl.  Separate entities presented as whole to the indifferent consumer......

And by and large, while we United States citizens are very proud be American, there is a large portion of us that are also very proud (or at least somewhat aware of) our heritage.


I'm Mexican American --- tomatoes --- (it's use as a food originated in Mexico)

I am African American --- black olives --- (derived from the Oleaceae tree, which is found throughout Africa)

I am Italian ---- Breadsticks -- (originated in Italy)

I am German American --- cheese (actually, no one knows where cheese originated from.  But we can't very well shove a sausage into a salad, now can we?)

I am Irish American -- they brought a potato salad.....(and a fifth) Variety is the spice of life, right?

I am Filipino American -----   ??????????

What?  What is that?  Did you bring, like, a coconut or something?

As long as I could remember no one, with a few minor exceptions, seems to know what a Filipino is.  Hell, I'm Filipino and I barely know.

Here is what I do know:

1. The Philippines is an island chain in the south Pacific.  It you're traveling by way of California, just head for Japan and hang a left.  Better yet, just look at a map before you go.

2. The United States once had an air force base there (that's how Dad met Mom)

3. The yo-yo (which in Tagalog means "come back") was adorned with spikes and used as a weapon in the Philippines.  (I can't imagine this thing worked very well.....yo-yo or spear......hmm....)

4.  People here in the U.S. love Mom's food....

Yeah --- that's about it....Pathetic, right?

So, I have absolutely no reason to get upset when people can't figure out "what" I am.  In fact I find it amusing and turn it into a guessing game.  (No, there are no prizes.  Just all in good fun.)

When I got my first job I was known as the Mexican kid, or the Puerto Rican kid.  When I said I was neither, the people in the department that I was working in went nuts trying to guess my nationality.

The winner of the contest was from another department --- and another Filipino. I think the game would have went on forever if not for her.  But she called me out;  unto which most people looked at me and asked "What is that?"

It wouldn't be the last time that I would be referred to as "that"..... (or what)

I was too young to remember my Uncle George, but I remember Dad telling me once that when visiting with family George has asked where my Mom was.

"Oh, she's back home visiting family in the Philippines," Dad said.

"Oh, I see," said Uncle George, "How far a' drive is that?"

I hear Uncle George was a helluva nice guy.  Maybe he misheard and thought Dad said Philadelphia...   Philippines --- Philadelphia....Yeah, that's pretty close.

When my brother Tony was away at college, a football player from Chicago asked him "what" he was.  When Tony said he was Filipino, the guy just shook his head and said, "I don't even know what that is."

But I think by far my favorite is when I'm misidentified by Native Americans.  I don't know why, they don't look anymore confused than anyone else.  Maybe it has to do with the way they ask.....

"Are you native?"

Me: "Uh, native to what?"

"What tribe are you from/do you belong to?"

Me: "Um, Ilocano?"

There are several different ethnic groups in the Philippines, but this is the only one I know.  I have no idea what "tribe" I'm from.

But as amusing as I find all this, I have lately grown very disappointed that I didn't get to know my heritage a little better.  Or at the very least know some of my native tongue.

The girl who guessed that I was Filipino got very excited and started rambling in Tagolag  as if we had been life long friends.  I threw my hands up in the air and said "stop, I don't know what your'e saying."

She was very visibly disappointed.

Hell, I'm half German with a German last name.  At least when I go to a German restaurant and they start speaking Deutsch I can say...."Nin, nin....No sprechen zee Deutsch."

They, too, are disappointed. But at least I can speak a little bit.

My lack of Filipino knowledge really didn't hit me until Toby and his cousins got older.  His cousin, Trysten, got a tattoo that (if you know what you're looking for) proudly symbolizes his Filipino heritage.

Toby and his cousin Allen occasionally try to speak Tagalog.  It comes in very handy when they don't want anyone other than their grandmother knowing what they are talking about.

Toby is only one quarter Filipino but has more pride in his heritage than I do.  Here is this pale skinned (accept in the summer, he tans very nicely) green eyed kid who is trying to learn Tagalog, has the Filipino flag hanging in his room, wears a Mark Munoz t-shirt, (for those that don't know, Mark Munoz is, by Filipino standards, a giant man and MMA fighter) and is constantly asking when Grandma Aida is going to come over and cook more Filipino food so he can learn how to do it himself.

I really let my son down.......and it kind of bothers me.  (Tera, on the other hand, doesn't appear to give a shit...But, she is only nine.)

Ignorance is not bliss.......it's not.

So come the holiday season, my Christmas wish list will be very short but, unfortunately, somewhat expensive.  I'm going to try to pick up my native tongue through Rosetta Stone.

Maybe if Toby can learn the language and to cook he will be happy.  I guess I'm about to find out.

Oh.....There is one part of my Filipino heritage that I'm very glad I did not inherit.  When Mom was expecting she wanted to name me Cimpriano Esperanza.

Yeah......Can you imagine kindergarten with that name?  I'm also quite certain that I would have caught a lot of flak with that form of identification.  It was hard enough being the stereotypical Asian kid -- skinny, uncombable hair with the cow lick from hell, and nerdy glasses --- Cimpriano would have just assured me a few extra beatings......

Dad, however, opted for a much simpler name.  Tom, let's go with Tom.

I am most certainly good with that......

By the way....anyone want Pak Choy in their salad?  How about okra?