Sorry, Sorry

• At 4, I wondered what a chink bitch was.
• At 5, I came home from kindergarten singing, “Chink-a-chink-a Chinaman, sitting on a fence.”
• At 6, I watched in horror as a blond boy called my father a motherfucking gook.

Just because you didn’t see it, that doesn’t mean it never happened

There was a little boy sitting nervously on his bicycle as my dad talked to him. The boy had called my father a chink, and my father was calmly explaining that it wasn’t a nice thing to say, and that his parents would be disappointed to hear him say that to an adult. (Who’re we kidding? We all know that this kid probably learned to be a racist at home. But my father was giving him the benefit of the doubt.)