Journalist, Author & Syndicated Columnist
This is Marion Bartoli. As in the elite athlete who became a Wimbledon champion over the weekend. Shame on her for not being attractive enough. After all, female athletes aren’t worthy to compete in anything unless they’re pretty enough for the spectators to ogle, right?
Every time my son goes out to mow the lawn with his father, he takes a short break to bring me something. He usually waits at the bottom of the stairs and says, “Mommy! I have a surprise for you.” It might be a pretty rock he found. More than likely, it’s a flower from our garden.
THIS is what you drive if you’re a 5-year-old boy whose father is a scientist. Word.
I was invited to go to a swimming pool with a friend and her family. I remember being really excited about getting to play in a real pool. Per the admittance requirements, we all rinsed off in the locker room and waited in line. One by one, we stuck our arms out so that a park district employee could rub his or her fingers on our forearm to ensure our cleanliness. The whole thing sounds crazy now. But those were part of the rules, I guess.
For too long, Asians have had a reputation as being meek, smart, well disciplined and bad at sports. Look at Jeremy Lin. Despite playing at an elite level and leading his high school and college teams to championships, he was overlooked by the NBA. Maybe the instructors saw Kyle and his blue-eyed, blonde-haired friend and assumed that my son would be the weaker swimmer. I’m sure they never heard of Olympic gold medalist swimmer Park Tae-hwan, who is the Michael Phelps of Korea.
There’s a funny video floating around on social media that’s getting a lot of attention. It shows a young woman of Asian descent preparing for a jog. A white man starts a conversation with her with the dreaded, “Where are you from?” For a lot of people, this is an innocuous enough question. If you say, “Maine,” or “California,” or “Florida,” that’s usually the end of the conversation. But if you look like I do, the series of questions won’t stop until your lineage is traced back to ancient fill-in-the-blank.
I was looking through some old photos, and I found this picture. My husband was testing a waterproof camera and got this shot of our son (then two-years old) playing in one of the pools at the Kalahari Waterpark in the Wisconsin Dells. I ending up writing about the trip for the New York Post. This photo didn’t make it in. So, here it is.
In honor of tonight’s season finale of “The Big Bang Theory,” I thought I’d have a bongo-off with Sheldon Cooper. Who’s the winner? You be the judge.
I’m a sucker for hand prints. Foot prints, too. This year for Mother’s Day, Kyle made me a gift designed around his hand prints at preschool.
Every year, I go to the Coach store and buy my mother a scarf, or a handbag, or a wallet, or a hat, or a pair of shoes — things she likes, but would never buy for herself. She tells me often that the only nice clothes she owns are the ones I bought for her. This isn’t entirely true. My siblings have given her some lovely things or gifted her with money to buy whatever she wants. But it is true that the two of us have gone shopping together the most.
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This is where I plan on spending most of the summer. Sitting on my front porch. Watching the kid ride his bike and drinking my LaCroix.
May the 4th be with you. 🙂 Just bought the kid “Star Wars” lightsaber shoes (at 25% off!) that switch from red to green flashing lightsabers. They’re pretty awesome and he loves them.
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