When I first heard about the tragic loss of eight innocent lives in Atlanta, six of whom were Asian women, it hit me hard. The surge of violence and hatred against people who look like me and my family had reached a frightening new level. A wave of anxiety washed over me. Was this a turning point? Would the situation only deteriorate from here?
After discussing my feelings of sadness and fear with my wife, who is Caucasian, we decided it was important for me to talk to our older kids about the incident. Addressing the realities of violence and loss with children isn’t easy, but unfortunately, I’ve had to have similar conversations before — about the murder of George Floyd, the Capitol riots, and the ongoing racism faced by Asian Americans.
My wife and I want our children to understand the context of current events, especially those that touch on our family’s values and biracial identity. I know I may not always find the right words, but I believe that having these imperfect conversations is far better than leaving them uninformed or relying on hearsay.
I took a moment to gather my thoughts before speaking to my kids. I wanted to ensure I could discuss these difficult topics without overwhelming them. The next day, I asked my two eldest daughters, aged 10 and 8, to sit down for an important conversation. I explained that I needed to share some upsetting news.
Adjusting my explanation to their understanding, I told them about the man who had taken the lives of eight individuals, six of whom were Asian women. I expressed my sadness over the loss of life, especially since some victims looked like us. I reminded them of our previous discussions regarding hate and violence against Asians, which had been particularly prevalent since the pandemic began.
As I concluded the conversation, I faced a challenging moment. I didn’t want to end on a dark note or instill fear in them. So, I assured them they would be safe. But deep down, I knew this wasn’t a promise I could guarantee. Statistics from Stop AAPI Hate highlight the alarming frequency of hate incidents in California, and just a week earlier, I had learned about an attack on an Asian man in a nearby community. The reality is that my family could face various forms of hate, from verbal harassment to vandalism.
So why did I tell my kids they would be okay? First, I felt an overwhelming need to shield them. As a parent, one of my responsibilities is to prepare my kids for the challenges of the world. I wanted to discuss the harsh realities but didn’t want to instill paralyzing fear. So, I lied and told them they would be safe.
Secondly, as an Asian man, I often struggle to articulate my emotions. I’ve spent my life suppressing feelings, believing that they would hinder my ability to function. I didn’t want to burden my children with the anger and hatred I felt toward those committing these acts of violence. So, I lied and reassured them they would be okay.
Lastly, I didn’t know what actions were being taken to address this troubling situation. If I had concrete steps to share that could help combat anti-Asian violence, I would have conveyed that to my kids. But instead, I resorted to vague reassurances that sounded comforting. So, I lied and told them they would be alright.
I look forward to a time when I can honestly tell my children they will be safe without it being a falsehood. In my darkest moments, I fear that day may not come in my lifetime or theirs. But at my most hopeful, I believe that families like ours can come together to effect meaningful change.
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Summary
This reflection explores the challenges of discussing troubling societal issues with children, particularly from the perspective of a father of Asian descent. It highlights the struggle between wanting to protect children while acknowledging harsh realities, and the emotional burdens parents carry in these conversations.