When Diantha told me her brother, Joel, was bringing his new girlfriend over for dinner, I chuckled and said something like, "Okay...I'll try not to offend this one."
A couple months ago, he and his previous girlfriend came over for dinner. Somehow, the conversation turned to rock climbing and cave diving (two pastimes which I find entirely unnecessary) and she shared a rather tragic story. A friend of hers went cave exploring on a first date . She fell down an unseen crevasse and the impact detached her retina, causing permanent vision loss. I thought, "How sad! One so young, out on what was supposed to be an exciting adventure and now her life is altered forever...awful...just awful."
Unfortunately, there's a mechanism in my brain that activates when I'm confronted with unpleasant facts and emotion. I instantly revert to sarcasm or humor as a means of diffusing and processing the hard stuff. This is fine when it is my own troubles I'm laughing about. But when I react the same way in response to other people's woes, I just appear to be a terribly insensitive person. That is exactly what happened.
After a what seemed to be an endless three seconds of silence, I blurted out, "Well, I guess she won't be seeing that guy anymore." I immediately recognized my error. It made me feel a little better that Joel and Diantha were both choking back laughter. But the look on that girl's face clearly read, "Did you seriously just say that? You are the worst person ever." I tried to apologize, but the look of shock remained. We moved on to dessert and I remember being relieved that she was attending another university several hours away, so I wouldn't encounter her often.
So, that brings us to last night. The four of us--me, Diantha, Joel and his new girlfriend--sat down to the table and began passing dishes and asking the standard getting-to-know-you questions. "You look familiar," I said as I tried to place her face. I thought maybe she worked at the library or the grocery store... one of those places where you see the same people dozens of times but never learn their names. I was not prepared for her response.
"Well, there are a lot of Asians on campus....so...." She trailed off, but I finished it for her in my head...."so, you probably think we all look alike, don't you? You horrible racist!" Was she making a joke? Was I being paranoid? I couldn't tell. But seeing as my stated goal for the evening was not to offend her, I didn't dare open my mouth. My mind flipped into Hyper-Analysis Mode (all females have this setting in their brain) and panic started to set in.
At Joel's request, Diantha had prepared Korean food. Was this girl Korean? I didn't know...and somehow I felt guilty for the fact that I really cannot tell most Asians apart. But this is mainly due to lack of exposure, not some sense of superiority. (Although, I doubt she could have guessed which European nation my ancestors came from, so we're even). If she was Korean, would she be bored with this food? Or--no offense Diantha--what if it was a pathetic American attempt at Korean food? What if she wasn't Korean? What if she viewed this as us saying, "Oh, your family came from a certain geographical region, so you MUST love kimchi! And you probably don't know how to use a fork, either... so, here, have some chopsticks." Ah!
I thought about my Tongan mission companion. Upon meeting her, people felt compelled to tell her that they or someone they knew had a friend from Tonga or Samoa or Tahiti...or went on vacation to Hawaii...or that they really enjoyed pineapple. She was a good sport about it, but in private, she expressed her frustration. "Fool...I don't care if you went on a cruise. I'm from Salt Lake and I'm not here to hula for you!"
The conversation continued and for some reason, kept circling back to ethnic foods. I could have easily contributed but somehow my tales of culinary adventure in Vietnam seemed off limits. So, I kept quiet, which probably made me look less friendly. I looked at Joel as he contentedly scooped up another serving of bulgogi beef. I wondered why he had requested Korean food. Why not Pizza? Enchiladas? Lasagna? Something that wouldn't be causing me to feel awkward every time I asked his girlfriend to pass the rice. Probably because he likes bulgogi beef. That's all. I was making this entire experience waaaaay more uncomfortable than it had initially been after that opening comment. So, I relaxed and began to sing the following song in my head.
And the rest of the evening was fine.
No comments:
Post a Comment