The Rice And Wrongs - A Balancing Act: America And Egg Rolls

Story by Dan Nguyen 

| Published Sep 22, 2009

There is a time in every white-washed assimilated Asian’s childhood in which they realize no matter how they act or who their friends are they are still utterly Asian. My moment came in the 2nd grade.

Until the 2nd grade, to the best of my knowledge, I was living the American Dream - backyard baseball, eating pizza bagels after school, watching the pink Power Ranger kick in claymation enemies while observing the strange funny-good feeling from my loin.

But in the 2nd grade, my outlook changed. In 2nd grade there was the infamous multi-cultural unit, a unit that made itself evident that I, as compared to all my classmates, was different.

During this notorious time of school, my teacher assumed that my non-conforming ethnicity could contribute. My teacher, with no knowledge of my family’s lifestyle or eating habits, asked me if my mom would graciously cook the class egg-rolls to demonstrate diverse foods.

What a bitch! For all she knew, my family could have been 5th generation Americans. For all she knew, my mom was a 350lb black woman.

Where can she justify that, because of the color of my skin, my mom had the cultural knowledge to cook Asian food? In my mind I was just as white as any of my classmates and for her to ask me such a demand was just ignorant.

A week after my teacher requested my mother’s services my mom cooked over 450 egg-rolls for the entire school and was touted as one of the best Asian cooks living on the south side of Lincoln.

In 2nd grade, munching on my mom’s egg-rolls, I was enlightened. My young soul began to recognize a few truths that embodied the difference between myself and my classmates.

For better or for worse, the hand dealt to me included the “race card,” and as much as I’d like to keep that card up my sleeve, as long as I am Asian, the “race card” is every card in my deck.

Absolutely everything I do for the rest of my life will have a racial component. Every single action I make has the potential to shape someone’s perspective on not only my own character but the character of a whole race (I can only imagine the pressure President Obama feels).

Yet, the life I live goes beyond being Vietnamese. My Asian life extends to the path of being American, and for that I am blessed. The joy of growing up with the dual component of being Asian and American has given me experiences and perspective unique to only a few.

I am not making an argument that someone who is Caucasian has less of a unique life experience; I am only stating that my life is full of societal contradictions that make it enjoyable. There’s nothing better than waking up in my frat house and driving to go get Vietnamese soup with all my White friends while listening to Asian opera on the radio.

America is an amazing country that has given my family the freedom to raise a very peculiar boy. Before the 2nd grade I thought my life to be one that conformed to White America. I know now that my life conforms to nothing but my own unique experiences. America doesn’t make us American, our existence does. Be grateful for all Americans, for within all their unique experiences is the genetic make-up of our country. The majority is not race, or ethnicity, the majority in America is the fact that we are all uniquely different.