That Time I Found Humor in Others’ Stereotypes

self insemination kit

For this piece, let’s refer to my partner as Jake. Jake is a mix of Italian and Irish heritage, hailing from the outskirts of Boston. In other words, he fits the classic white mold. As he navigates daily tasks—dropping off the kids, commuting on the subway, and enjoying the privileges of his background—he encounters countless others who look just like him. They might not have a special greeting, but who knows?

As someone who’s half-Asian and half-white, I often share a special connection with others like me. There’s an unspoken understanding, a subtle acknowledgment that says, “Hey, I see you’re part of the club. My uncle also made that less-than-pleasant remark about my heritage.” I like to call this moment “The Hapa Connection.”

“Hapa,” derived from the Hawaiian term “hapa haole,” originally referred to those who are half-white but has evolved to encompass individuals of mixed Asian descent. Back in the ’70s, being half-Asian was still somewhat of a rarity. Growing up, I frequently faced questions like, “Where are you from?” or “What are you?” One of my all-time favorites was, “Ni hao. Can you cook Chinese food?” (Answer: California, human being, and No, mind your own business).

As a child, these inquiries made me feel awkward, yet they also instilled a sense of pride. It felt special to be noticed. While many around me were white—normal and, frankly, a bit mundane—I wore my cultural background like a badge of honor. My family enjoyed dim sum in Chinatown while also grilling steaks and cooking spaghetti. We were unique, and I cherished my Chinese-American family.

Then came puberty, and everything shifted. Unwanted advances from men became the norm; they often used my “slanted” eyes as a conversation starter, frequently following it up with, “My last girlfriend was Japanese.” The sexual and sexist undertones were not just frustrating; they were exhausting (like the guy who asked if my boyfriend “liked Chinese food,” which made me want to wash myself with bleach).

When I first met Jake, it never crossed my mind to ask if he could sauté a potato or if he was in a mob family (though I do have my share of drinking jokes). No one has ever exoticized him or made crude comments about his heritage (aside from that one incident in Montreal, which he’d rather forget…). While his name screams Irish, he identifies more with his Italian roots—and yes, he makes an amazing marinara. The difference lies in his ability to selectively reveal these aspects of himself, a luxury I didn’t have. For many hapas, our identities were often defined by others before we had a chance to voice them.

When I meet another half-Asian person in their 30s or 40s—maybe a fellow parent at school—I skip the silly questions. I don’t assume they’re fluent in another language or grew up in a tropical paradise. Instead, I think they likely grew up in suburban New Jersey or Southern California like many of my friends. Yet, there’s an instant bond, a shared understanding of our experiences. Perhaps they too had a high school boyfriend who made a cringe-worthy joke about “slope chow.” Maybe they’ve faced their own versions of racial slurs.

These days, it’s not as complex. Hapas are everywhere, and guess what? In many mixed-race couples, the man can be Asian! Taxi drivers, once the worst offenders of racial stereotypes, hardly even glance my way now, which may reflect a societal shift rather than just my aging out of the “exotic Asian” stereotype. For my children, it’s simply about math. They blend seamlessly with their friends, who boast about their diverse heritages, like, “I’m a quarter Chinese, a quarter Italian, and a third Martian,” as if it were a video game inventory.

Recently, we spent time with my extended Chinese-American family. Afterward, my (white, Jewish) friend jokingly asked my kids, “So, did you see a lot of Chinese people on your trip?” My son looked genuinely puzzled and replied, “Huh?” To him, everyone was just Auntie or Cousin. He couldn’t distinguish between full Chinese relatives, hapas, or the Indian and Filipino cousins by marriage. It was all just one big, loving family.

So, is this progress? My son likely won’t hear “No starch, please” in jest, and my daughter probably won’t encounter any crude “Asian massage” comments. However, they also have such a diverse mix in their backgrounds that they appear almost… neutral. Apart from their individual talents and personalities, they might not feel uniquely special. We’re gaining some things, sure, but perhaps we’re also sacrificing a bit of our distinctive identities.

In summary, navigating the complexities of race and identity is a journey filled with humor, awkward experiences, and connections that transcend stereotypes. While times have changed, the essence of belonging and understanding remains vital.