InCultureParent

Multicultural Children’s Chocolates

Stephanie Meade — Tue, 15 May 2012 23:47:16 +0000

A friend of mine picked up a box of chocolates (usually on my no-no list) for my kids on her last trip to Korea. Since she’s an “Auntie” to my kids, she claims she gets to spoil them with things I don’t generally allow. She’s also the one that promises them secret treats behind my back and Lord knows what else. She’s the same one I fear which stories she will want to tell my kids about me when they get older, since we’ve known each other since we were 14. Yes, I am talking about you Auntie Lauren!

These chocolates are far cooler than your usual box of chocolates. They are multicultural Pucca chocolates! (I may be hopelessly behind the times as I didn’t know Pucca until I googled, but my kids knew all about her and were pretty excited by the chocolates).

Each chocolate has a Pucca character from a different country. American Pucca is dressed like a cowboy. There’s no Moroccan Pucca but we’ll forgive the oversight!

Real Intercultural Family: Lizi and Da Jun

The Editors — Mon, 07 May 2012 16:44:02 +0000

Where are you from?

Lizi: U.K.

Da Jun: China

Where do you currently live and what countries have you lived in together?

Lizi: Beijing, China—we’ve lived here since we met, but we are currently in the throes of moving back to the U.K.

How did you meet?

Lizi: We met through friends during the SARS epidemic in 2003. There was nothing to do during that time—nothing was open—so people went ’round to visit friends. Da Jun was brought over to my flat by another girl who was chasing me (I didn’t like her). They were Internet friends or something. I was watching Lawrence of Arabia. She sat on the sofa, crossed her arms and said, “Oh, this old movie… nothing special.” I thought she was interesting and really different from other Chinese people I’d known.

Da Jun: 2003年SARS期间,大概是3、4月份，无聊得很，有个网友约见面，见面之后突然两人又好像没话可说，对方提议去朋友家玩，于是在那家遇见Lizi。记得是她开的门，满脸不高兴的样子，我心想这人怎么那么凶。我那个网友进门后就跑去里屋找另一个朋友聊天，扔下我跟Lizi，我俩只好一起坐着看电影。其实对她的第一印象不是很好。后来聊天发现算是同行，还算有共同语言。晚上大家一起出门吃饭，都要戴口罩，她带了一个非常小的口罩，还拉到鼻子下面，完全失去戴口罩的意义，看上去又好笑又可爱，我觉得这人挺有意思。

When I met up with my internet friend, we found nothing to say to each other, so she suggested we go to another friend’s house, which is where I met Lizi. I remember she opened the door with a displeased expression, and I thought—why is she so fierce? My Internet friend went into another room to chat with Lizi’s flatmate, leaving me with Lizi. We sat and watched a movie. My first impression of Lizi wasn’t so good. Then, after chatting, I discovered we were in the same business, so that meant we had something to talk about. All four of us went out for supper together—we all had to wear face masks. Lizi wore a really small one and refused to cover her nose, making the face mask pointless. It looked really funny and cute—I thought she was interesting.

How old are your children and where were they born?

Lizi: We have one child. I’m the birth mother. Ouwen is four and was born in Beijing.

What passports do you and the kids hold?

Lizi: He holds a British passport—we wouldn’t be able to get him Chinese nationality because I am not married to a Chinese man. Obviously, our British civil partnership is not recognized in China. The Brits had no trouble recognizing my child as a Brit. But I had huge trouble getting my child out of China, despite the fact he was already a British citizen. Any child born in China is considered Chinese by default. If the child is foreign, you have to apply for special certificates to take him out of the country before you can apply for a visa for this child. I couldn’t get these certificates because I didn’t have a marriage certificate. So I was falling through a loophole. I had to get the British Embassy to wade in (which they only did because I badgered them and paid them to write a diplomatic note for me). The Chinese authorities had no choice but to just give my son a visa and let him out of the country.

What languages do you each speak and what language do you speak together?

Lizi: I speak English and Chinese. I used to speak only Chinese at home. Now that Ouwen is around, I speak mainly English at home. I cross between English and Chinese when talking with my partner, especially in front of our son, but I speak mainly in Chinese when he’s not around.

In what languages do you speak to your child?

Lizi: I speak mainly English. I sometimes speak Chinese if I want someone else who is there to understand as well. I sometimes unconsciously speak to him in Chinese if he speaks to me in Chinese— depends on what we’re doing. She speaks only Chinese with our son. Her English isn’t very fluent, but she understands well enough.

What languages does you child speak?

Lizi: Both English and Chinese. He’s very fluent in both languages–as fluent as he would be in a single language. He usually speaks the correct language to other people depending on the colour of their skin or what they speak to him in! But he will mix them up sometimes, especially if he knows both languages will be understood. He even translates sometimes, just to show off.

How do you reinforce the languages beyond just the parents speaking it?

Lizi: Everyone around him speaks Chinese, so that’s easy. I speak English with foreign friends we visit. I’m very verbal, so he doesn’t lack English at all. We read. He watches British cartoons. I don’t let him watch Chinese television!! Chinese television is really bad.

What does raising a little global citizen mean to you?

Lizi: I’ve never really thought about it. I spent my childhood in Africa, being raised by British parents. Being overseas, you identify more with your home culture. I think it’s important that you know who you are—that includes what culture you come from—that doesn’t mean ‘the culture of the world’.

We are all part of different cultural units—the family, school, work place, city, country, etc. Each creates our identity in different ways. It’s only with this strong specific identity that you can go out and interact with the world. I want my son to have a strong grounding in both British and Chinese culture. I want him to learn Chinese fluently and be able to read and write—this is a big deal and will be very hard to achieve in the U.K. However, I think it’s more important that he gets a Western education—this is the reason we’re going back. He will get a wider understanding of the world in the U.K. than he would growing up in China. I hope we can go and live in another country too, after spending some time in the U.K.—hopefully so we can all learn a third language…But I want our base to be in the U.K. A strong base is very important.

Da Jun: 我在新疆的军队里长大，那里的少数民族文化跟汉人完全不一样。部队里又聚集着来自中国各地的汉人，中国很大，即使汉人之间，不同地区的文化也有差异，而我本身也算是少数民族，所以，我习惯于面对不同的文化。我父亲是个很开明的人，他非常喜欢西方音乐和文学，我也从小就受到西方文化的熏陶。八十年代中国刚开始开放，大量引进西方哲学、艺术思潮，事实上，我很惊讶的发现，中国人对西方文化的了解要多过西方人对中国的了解。当然，具体到生活上，了解不一定代表真正的理解，在遇到比较深刻的文化差异时，我们还会有冲突。关于文化差异，我的理解是，不同文化只是看问题角度不一样或者实施的方法不一样而已，最终大家追求的还是真善美的东西，本质上，我不认为文化有差异，历史上文化就是流动的变化的。如同罗素所说：参差多态乃幸福之源。孩子在两种文化的家庭中长大，会看到更丰富多态的生活，对他来说会是很好的经验。我希望在他小时候能够多经历多了解，学会包容和欣赏不一样的东西，至于他长大后选择英国还是中国文化作为他的根，这都不重要，重要的是他能够从不一样的东西中发现美。

I grew up in Xinjiang. Both my parents are army people, and we lived in an army hospital compound. The local culture of Xinjiang is completely different from that of the Han Chinese. The army community brought together people from all over China. China is really big—even between Han Chinese from different parts of China there are big differences. I belong to a minority—the Hui. Because of all this, I’m used to different cultures. My father is a very open-minded person—he loves Western music and literature—so I was influenced by Western ideas from a young age. In the 80s, China started opening up, bringing in a lot of Western philosophies and art. I was surprised to find that Chinese people were more knowledgeable about Western culture than Westerners were about China. Of course, knowing about something and understanding it are two different things.

Do you have any advice for parents raising multilingual kids on what works and what doesn’t?

Lizi: Speak to your kids naturally in your own language. Talk to them as equals—talk to them about everything—talk all the time. They’ll do the rest. Sing. Read. Make up silly rhymes. Language is so fun and so fantastic—it’s the greatest of play things.

It’s best if both parents are fluent in all the family’s languages. If not, I really think the parent without fluency should make the effort to learn. I cannot imagine a barrier like that existing within a family. My experience of such families is that the child is only strong in the family’s conversant language (i.e. if one parent speaks Hebrew, the other Russian, and they communicate in English, then the child will learn mainly English). This is a huge loss for the child, I think, especially if they live in a place where the main language is English. I think minority language at home is a good thing—we will do this when we get to the UK.

What religion are you both? And how are you raising the kids?

Lizi: Neither of us are religious. Da Jun comes from a Muslim minority (Hui)—but it’s a cultural rather than a religious distinction. She has chosen this identity—her father’s. Her mother is Han Chinese, so she could have chosen that—chosen to identify with the Chinese majority. But she chose to be different. She marks her difference by not eating pork. That’s all.

My father was brought up Catholic, but he was sent to a Jesuit school, which he hated. He rejected all things religious and we had no religion at home. He’s so against religion that he gets very upset when my mum turns hippy on him and goes on meditation weekends. We had dull Church of England at school.

Da Jun: 虽然来自穆斯林家庭,但几年前我决定信仰佛教.佛教非常宽容,所以我不会强迫家人必须跟我一样,孩子将来的精神和世俗生活由他自己选择.

Although I come from a Muslim household, I turned to Buddhism quite a few years ago. Buddhism is very tolerant, so I could never force anyone to be like me. Our son’s spiritual life is for him to decide.

What are some of your biggest cultural differences?

Lizi: There are so many cultural differences, but they only started to matter after we had our child. The way Chinese people raise children is so different—everything from how you give birth to who looks after the child, from potty training to when a child falls down (when Chinese children fall over, the carer will be there immediately to pick the child up and make a huge fuss and pat the dust off the child. A Westerner wouldn’t do that—a Westerner might ask the child to pick himself up, but probably wouldn’t need to, because the child would get up himself without being asked, coming to look for sympathy if he’s hurt). I have assimilated many Chinese things, but I’m still a Westerner. Da Jun has let me get on with it, which is fantastic. But I think we’ll have very different approaches to our son’s education. She’ll be strict—I’ll be ‘let him get on with it’. But it will be good for him to have difference.

The other difference is understanding of body. The Chinese worry about sickness all the time. Da Jun was brought up in a hospital (her parents were both doctors)—so she’s a complete hypochondriac. I can’t stand this. I was brought up with all my illnesses being ignored. I have no sympathy for illness. And I don’t want my son to be paranoid either. So I take him out in cold weather when he’s got a cold, I let him wear shorts in April, I let him sit on the ground, I let him get dirty—the Chinese can’t stand this!!

Da Jun: I think cultural differences are just a matter of different points of view and different ways of doing things. In the end, we’re all looking for the same things. As such, ultimately, there’s no such thing as cultural differences. It’s great that our son is growing up in a cross-cultural household—it means he’ll have a richer life. I hope he can have lots of experiences and learn to tolerate and appreciate lots of different types of things. If doesn’t matter if he chooses to identify with British of Chinese culture—this is not important. What’s important is that he can find beauty in different things.

What have been your greatest challenges as an intercultural family?

Lizi: I think our main challenge is up ahead of us—how are we going to make things work in the U.K.? It will be a complete re-working of our family dynamics and Da Jun’s understanding of herself.

One thing we’ve pretty much avoided is the Chinese family thing. Da Jun is the youngest, so she doesn’t have much pressure to carry on the family line or take care of her parents. Her brother and sister will probably take care of much of this. This means I don’t have to be a filial daughter-in-law so much. I would be terrible at this—I am terrible at this! Da Jun’s parents are much older, which meant they didn’t insist on coming to live with us to help with childcare when Ouwen was born. I wouldn’t have been able to deal with this. Her father did come for a short time, but we argued (he’s a lovely man—very un-argumentative, but we still managed to argue)—I didn’t want anyone telling me how I should raise my child. Chinese people have other people telling them all the time. So he left.

Her family has been very accepting of the fact that she’s with a woman not a man. They might not be able to get their head around it, but they don’t interfere. It helps that I’m a foreigner, If I were Chinese, they would have more to say, mainly about practicalities (such as what are you going to do when you’re old, you can’t get married or have children—this doesn’t work in China). As a foreigner, I’m just different, so it’s normal that I’m weird. I really like that they’re accepting about this, mainly because her father is so open-minded.

Da Jun: 最大的挑战是如何两全，一是如何从两种文化中选择好的方面来教育孩子：比如中国方式能够让孩子不用戴尿布，还有中国人比较注重孩子的社会性，英国人注重独立性，我们需要在日常生活中很好的平衡这两方面，让孩子意识到保持自己的独立性同时又不失灵活。另一个更重要的是，中国人有很强大的一套文化体系和社会习俗，而以英美为代表的西方文化目前在全世界都处于强势地位，骨子里我俩都有各自的文化优越感和自尊心，我希望孩子将来能够欣赏中国的书法、诗歌、琴棋书画等优雅的知性和灵性生活，Lizi有否期待我不清楚，但她表示过希望孩子文化的根是英国的，最终是否能够达到平衡？这很有趣。

Our biggest challenge has been how to take care of both sides. How do you choose the best of both cultures to educate your child? For example, in China it’s normal for children not to wear nappies. Also, Chinese people want their children to be ‘socialised’—British people want them to be ‘independent’. It’s hard to balance these things. More importantly, both of us come from strong cultures that we’re very proud of. I want my son to learn Chinese calligraphy and Chinese poetry—I want him to know about Chinese culture and be inspired by it. I don’t know if Lizi wants this too, but I know she hopes that Ouwen will have a British education. If he has a British education, how will he learn about China? Finding this balance is very interesting.

What have been your greatest joys as an intercultural family?

Lizi: We have access to both places and both cultures. We have a richer family life because of our mix— everything from language and ideas to food and rhythms.

Da Jun:我喜欢变化的、新鲜的生活，跨种族和跨文化家庭给我提供了很好的快乐源泉。前面所说的所有差异，如果不视为竞争，而以实验和欣赏的态度来看待，最终所有问题和冲突会转变为乐趣。差异–冲突—碰撞，有碰撞就会有火花，悲观的看，火花也许燃成大火毁掉一切，乐观的看，火花就是美丽的焰火。

I like change and new things. Having a cross-cultural family is very enjoyable for me. If you look at all our differences without thinking of them as points of conflict, but rather have an attitude of appreciation and experimentation, all problems and conflicts become joys. Differences equal friction—friction is what makes sparks. Fire can warm you or burn your house down—it just depends how you look at it.

The Secrets of Raising an Enlightened Child – Part III

Sensei Tony Stultz — Fri, 04 May 2012 23:04:20 +0000

In this installment, I would like to address that often difficult period around puberty. I will also give an example of applying mindfulness to a particular incident.

In our Buddhist tradition, the major conditioning of a human being is thought to take place during the early years of development. The post-pubescent years through the early twenties is when these foundations are tested. We believe there is a subtle shift that takes place around age eight or nine; this shift is largely unconscious but somewhat dramatic. A child begins to transition from a magical way of perceiving the world to a more literal outlook. The best example I can give is with my own beloved son.

One of the first questions I am asked by an American who is considering becoming a Buddhist is whether I celebrate Christmas. They are often quite relieved when I say yes. I explain my practice of the winter holiday as a universal one and not religious, and remind them that winter festivals predate the Christian era. While on a trip to Japan, some of my students were taken aback by the strains of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” being piped into our hotel and the scores of Santa Clauses hanging ninja-like from every ceiling. Thus, my little guy learned of the mysterious elf who visits on Christmas Eve. His belief in Santa was quite literal and while we didn’t utilize that figure as a tool for creating good behavior, we did encourage our son to enjoy the jolly wonder of the season. We spent many joyful holidays putting out cookies and milk and having our son wake us up at the crack of dawn to exclaim, “He was here!”

By about age nine, he began to question the literalism of the old man of winter. Friends at school were the first to pierce the veil, as his little mind began to evolve into what we call the Third Stage (Skandha). Questions slowly began to arise: “How does Santa get into the house on Christmas Eve? How can he deliver so many gifts in one night?”

Eventually this gave way to the big one, “Does he really exist?” I had been preparing for this and applied the teachings as best I could. I answered him by practicing what we call “not knowing.” This practice is done by simply entering into a situation with the humility of really listening to someone and not assuming that we already know the answer. I started by asking him to tell me what he thought about it. He carefully explained that he loved the idea of Santa but that he was finding it very hard to really believe in him anymore. He wanted to, especially during the holiday, but was beginning to feel that it was something that “big kids don’t do.”

I next practiced what we term “bearing witness.” This involves embracing the problem with compassion and gently probing the thoughts that create anxiety and sadness, which change can trigger. I asked my beautiful boy what he meant by the word “believe.” He paused and said that it was something that you hoped was true, but that maybe you couldn’t prove. I then asked him what he hoped was true about Santa. He answered, “I guess I hope that he is for real.”

I followed, “What do you mean by ‘real’?”

He answered, “It means that it really exists.”

“What does the word ‘exists’ mean to you?”

“It is something I can see or touch.”

“Are there things that are real that you cannot see or touch?”

“I can’t see radio waves but my teacher showed us how invisible things can actually exist.”

“Do you think Santa is invisible?”

“Nah, not really.”

“What does Santa mean to you?”

“Believing in him makes me happy.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I like getting gifts and I also really like seeing how happy everyone is when they are opening the presents that we got them.”

“Is it just the kids you like seeing so happy or the adults too?”

“It’s everybody!”

“How would you describe that feeling of happiness? What are you showing by giving gifts to everyone?”

“How much I love them.”

“Is love for real?”

At this a big smile crossed his face and I could see the light go on in his eyes. In the Zen tradition we call this a “kensho” or seeing into the true nature of things. I knew that he understood. I hugged him and asked, “Who is the real Santa Claus?”

He giggled and shouted, “Me!” He then clapped his hands together and asked me, “Can I dress up like Santa for Bella (his baby cousin)?” I laughed proudly, “Absolutely pal, absolutely.”

By realizing that all of us are ‘Santa’ whenever we give out a spirit of love, my son experienced the healing of his existential pain and responded with “compassion in action.” This is nothing more and nothing less than the reflexive ways in which we respond to others when we have seen into the underlying Oneness of all things.

The years following revealed many other realities, but I will always remember that one as the turning point where my little boy began his long journey into adulthood.

Next time, we will tackle the wonder years of the early teens. Until then, I will leave you with the words of one of my teachers, Deshimaru:

Raising a child is like flying a kite; if we hold too tight the line will break. If we hold too loosely it will never fly. Only by actively responding to the changing winds can we help it to rise high and strong into the big, beautiful blue sky.

Lotus Lanterns for Wesak (Buddha Day)

Amber Dorko Stopper — Thu, 03 May 2012 21:23:43 +0000

Wesak, Buddha’s birthday, is celebrated differently in various Asian and predominantly Buddhist countries. Wesak is tracked on the lunisolar calendar, and this year falls on the fifth of May, which is also Korean Children’s Day.

Paper lanterns shaped like lotus flowers are a common component of the incredible lantern festivals on the Buddha’s birthday in Korea, where the holiday is called 석가 탄신일 (Seokga tansinil) “Buddha’s birthday” or sometimes 부처님 오신 날 (Bucheonim osin nal) “The Day When Buddha Came.” You can make a fast, flameless lotus lantern for Wesak to remember the Buddha on his day.

Materials
LED tea lights (the kind with “flames” are available at Target)
3 oz Dixie paper cups
Tissue paper–green for leaves, and pink and orange for petals are traditional colors
Glue and a foam brush for application
Removable adhesive (such as poster tack)

Instructions
1. Take a 3 oz Dixie cup, and cut a small hole in the center of the bottom–just big enough so that the “flame” of your LED tea light will fit through it. (When you are finished making your lantern you will attach the tea light to the inside of the cup, with the “flame” sticking out the bottom.)

2. Cut petals from your colored tissue paper, in elongated teardrop shapes. For the more inner petals (orange) and for the green leaves at the bottom of the lantern, cut teardrop shapes about 2″ tall. For the pink petals–the “main” petals of the lotus flower–cut them about 3″ tall.

3. With the bottom of the cup facing up, brush some glue around the edge of the cup and begin gluing a round of orange petals. (You are working from the innermost petals, at the “top” of the flower, outward–like an artichoke.) For the next round, brush some glue around the cup lower-side down, and affix petals again. Offset them, instead of placing one petal directly atop another.

4. Continue moving downward towards the wider rim of the cup, using pink petals, and finishing with a round or two of green leaves.

5. Using poster tack or removable wall adhesive, stick your tea light to the inside of the cup, so that the LED “flame” pokes out of the top where the orange petals are. You can easily arrange your petals to be more open or closed, depending on how you like the look.

Happy birthday, Buddha!

If you are looking for another Asian-themed craft, here is a tutorial for how to make a sogo–a “lollipop”-shaped drum often used by children in Korea.

Suggested links
Wesak in Sri Lanka
Korean Character Paper Luminaries (not only do you get instructions on a very general pan-Asian luminaria, you get a heated discussion about cultural “appropriation” by prospective adoptive parents)

Wesak Recipe: Tofu and Vegetables with Peanut Sauce

Lauren Capitani — Thu, 03 May 2012 20:59:56 +0000

Wesak (also called Vesak), a Southeast Asian holiday, celebrates the birth and enlightenment of Buddha. Wesak is one of the most important Buddhist events and is celebrated with color and gaiety. While Wesak food varies by country, it is proper for food to be vegetarian. This dish was simple to prepare and delicious! If your children do not like spice, you may want to omit the cayenne.

Ingredients:
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 small head broccoli, chopped
1 red bell pepper, chopped
6 mushrooms, sliced
1 pound firm tofu, cubed
1 small Thai chili pepper (optional)
1 clove garlic, minced
1 1-inch piece of ginger, minced (optional)
1/2 cup all-natural, chunky peanut butter
1/2 cup hot water
2 tablespoons rice vinegar
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1 1/2 tablespoons agave or molasses
1/4 teaspoon ground cayenne pepper (more, to taste)
2 cups cooked Asian rice

Instructions:
1. Heat oil in a large skillet or wok over medium-high heat. Saute broccoli until par-cooked, about, 5 minutes. Add red bell pepper, mushrooms, garlic, tofu and chili pepper (if using). Sautee 5 minutes.

2. While cooking, combine peanut butter, hot water, vinegar, soy sauce, agave and cayenne pepper. Pour over vegetables and tofu. Simmer for 5 minutes.

3. Serve atop rice.

Korean Drum Craft

Amber Dorko Stopper — Wed, 02 May 2012 15:49:44 +0000

My kids love their sogo drums and love watching groups of Korean preschoolers perform onstage for their families using these user-friendly “lollipop” drums.

When we decided to run a sogo workshop for kids at the community cultural exchange on South street in Philadelphia, our first challenge was: how can we MAKE a sogo with kids that they can then play right away? One that is not dripping with paint?

We also wanted a low price point for materials. Oh, and we wanted the drums…to not be very loud. Loud enough to give the kids using them some immediate feedback, but not “UGH”-level loud. We thought everyone would appreciate that.

I think we came up with quite an excellent solution. When I made my exemplar drum, I began literally not knowing if I would finish or not. An hour later, I had made an entire drum, without leaving my kitchen for materials. It’s not gorgeous or elegant…but it gets the job done!

Materials
Oatmeal canister (42 oz!)
Clear packing tape
Masking tape
Colored “duck” tape
Drawing or construction paper
Marker to decorate drum head
A short length of drinking straw or organic stick
Disposable bamboo chopsticks
A little bit of yarn or tinsel for making a tassel

Instructions

Take your 42 oz oatmeal canister and cut rounds about an inch wide. you can get a lot of drum frames out of one oatmeal container!

Take clear packing tape and encircle the entire drum “frame” with it. This first layer is the most difficult and the most important–you must maintain the round shape of the frame and not let the tape squeeze it out of shape. Loose is better than tight. You can make tighter layers later.

Next layer: masking tape. Cover it all–both “heads” and the edge.

After another layer of clear packing tape, you’ll want to make a small slit in what will be the “bottom” of the vertical drum head. Your handle will go here and it’s easier to make that little hole now.

Cut two four-inch rounds of paper–wrapping paper, coloring paper, construction paper. Your child can decorate these as they see fit. Affix them with a bit of tape on the backs of them, to each side of the drum. Take your colored duck tape and wrap it around the edge of the drum, leaving the slit opening for your handle.

To make your handle, wrap a set of disposable bamboo chopsticks in colored duck tape.

Insert handle. A little glue would not hurt.

Use smaller strips of your duck tape to further attach your handle to your drum head.

Now make a small hole directly opposite your handle, at the top of the drum. Insert a short length of drinking straw or even a little piece of stick, if you want a more organic look. Again, a little glue is fine.

Attach some tinsel or yarn to the straw/stick at the top of the drum for a tassel. Use another set of chopsticks wrapped in duck tape to make a stick for hitting your sogo.

Ant there you go–fast, cheap and out of control!

Sugar Pie Recipe for Beltane

Lauren Capitani — Tue, 01 May 2012 21:52:19 +0000

Beltane, a Gaelic festival, celebrates the coming of summer. The name derives from the Gaelic word for May. The holiday is celebrated on May 1 in Ireland, Scotland and the Isle of Man. Foods eaten represent the fertility of the Earth–eggs, creme and berries are prevalent. Sugar pie is a “summer” pie and reminiscent of pecan pie filling, minus the nuts. It was a huge hit with my children! It would be fabulous with some macerated berries alongside.

Ingredients:
1 8-inch pie crust, uncooked
1 1/2 cups white sugar
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup heavy cream
3/4 cup whole milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground ginger (optional)

Instructions:
1. Preheat oven to 450 degrees.
2. In a medium bowl, mix together all ingredients (other than pie shell) and stir until smooth. Pour into pastry shell.
3. Bake in preheated oven for 15 minutes. Reduce heat to 350 degrees F and bake 45 minutes longer.

Breastfeeding in Jordan

Joan Carlton Griswold — Tue, 01 May 2012 03:24:53 +0000

When my parents moved to Amman, Jordan to teach at the American School, my daughter was just over a year old and I was pregnant with our second child. Even though my parents encouraged us to visit them once the baby was born, traveling to the Middle East with two infants (one breastfeeding) was not high on my list of fun family vacations. Yet, as my parents’ stories of warm, friendly people, beautiful country and layers of history trickled back to us via email, I began to imagine that we might be able to make the journey. It depended partly, of course, on this new baby.

Our son, Nolan, was born with an easygoing disposition and a healthy appetite. Eventually, we decided to make the trek. As we packed up most of the house and set off on a trip halfway around the world with a toddler whose favorite word was “no” and a 19-pound, four-month-old who wanted to nurse every two hours around the clock, I began to wonder if we had inched over the line from adventurous to insane.

I anticipated that breastfeeding in public would be a problem in a country where the Muslim women routinely covered their heads and exposed very little flesh. I knew that I could nurse discreetly, but feared that even the idea of a breastfeeding baby in public could cause problems. A Lebanese-born nurse in my pediatrician’s office suggested that I use a breast pump and feed Nolan from a bottle when in public. Although I knew a breast pump could be my best shot at cultural sensitivity, I was not too excited about this option.

My first foray into the world of breastfeeding in public in Jordan was not exactly “public,” as Nolan and I ended up in a toilet stall. I wasn’t up to pushing the cultural envelope at a quaint little village restaurant, so I retreated to the toilet. I was amazed at the reception Nolan and I received. The universality of a breastfeeding mother far outweighed the difference in nationalities, and women came over to watch, converse and tickle the baby. It was a heartening ex,perience.

Emboldened, I began to nurse in more public places. I tried to take my cues from other breastfeeding mothers, but alas, I saw none. Apparently it is customary for children to be kept indoors for much of their first year, and though there were many older children, infants were not in evidence.

Without any role models, I continued to nurse discreetly. I turned my back when possible and I always wore suitable clothing. Not once was I made to feel out of place. What’s more, I was always treated with respect and given privacy.

By our third and final week in Jordan, I behaved much like I do at home. I hadn’t caused any international incidents and felt comfortable nursing Nolan discreetly in public. Curious about breastfeeding customs, I began asking around. One woman I met told me that breastfeeding is encouraged in the Arab world. Where she had lived in Dubai, it is an actual law, though difficult to enforce, that women breastfeed their infants during the first three months of life. I also read that Queen Rania of Jordan arranged her full schedule around the breastfeeding needs of her infant daughter.

It wasn’t until we were boarding the plane to leave that my questions were more fully answered. There sat a veiled woman, dressed head to toe in black, with one breast fully exposed in order to nurse her baby. On the surface, this woman and I were separated by culture, language, customs and dress, yet we were connected by the same intimate bond that has joined women since the beginning. We were breastfeeding mothers.

Raising a Hijab-Wearing Daughter in a World that Doesn’t Understand

Zvezdana Rashkovich — Tue, 01 May 2012 03:24:39 +0000

When she turned 15, my daughter announced her intention to start wearing the hijab (Muslim head scarf). At the time, we had been living in Qatar for nine years and upon our arrival in Dubai she donned her first veil.

Nothing prepared me for the deluge of feelings that followed. Her soft cheeks, her doe shaped eyes and a perfect nose used to be encircled by a halo of dark brown hair that I tended to lovingly while she was younger. I reminisced about those countless hours washing, combing and braiding it, nourishing it with regular applications of coconut and almond oils. I remembered the way the sun shone off the auburn and gold highlights when she played in the park. I thought of the road ahead of her—how hard it will be, how little she knew of what awaited in the future.

A sense of irrational fear and foreboding enveloped my days following her transformation. It was post 9/11 and the subsequent anti-Islamic sentiment was rampant. Terrible scenarios churned in my mind. What if she became the target of condemnation on our next trip to the U.S. and Europe? What if people looked at her with mistrust, suspicion or simply unkindness? I put together a list of reasons to discourage her from this life-altering decision.

First, she was too young. I wanted her to wait until she finished college at least, in order to have a greater understanding of to what she was committing. On the other hand, since many of her friends were already ‘hijabis’, I knew this tactic wouldn’t work. Second, I felt she needed more information about the path that lay ahead, the difficulties that she might face. Previously, she was an active girl, won prizes in horseback riding, tae kwon do and gymnastics. She was on the swim team. I wondered if the billowing hijab would alter her priorities or stifle her dreams in some way.

The thing that struck me the most once she started wearing the veil was the instant profiling from strangers and those close as well. Some branded her a timid girl whose family probably forced her into this choice. That couldn’t have been further from the truth. Others elevated her to almost divine status, as they saw only the virtuous, thinking highly of her every move and hanging onto her every word. Somehow, in a matter of months she had attained the respect of her peers and family that takes other teenagers years to achieve.

Her impish locks disappeared beneath the length of swirling silky cloth. Those dark eyes looked at me, at the world with an assurance, defiance and mostly conviction.

There were times when I was startled by the sight of her in front of the school, books across her chest, a heavy bag on her back, chatting animatedly with other girls, some hijab wearing, others Christian, even Druze.

Who was this girl? I would ask myself repeatedly. And what had she done with my daughter? On sweltering Dubai days, I would worry she was too hot, only to have her tell me calmly that she was fine. She never fiddled with the scarf, never complained when the air was too wet and hot even to breathe. Over time, she experimented and then molded her own version of trendy hijab, manifested by wearing rings on all her fingers, owning an electric guitar and driving my car like a possessed madwoman.

Her European side of the family politely avoided the topic. Some pretended not to notice the obvious change and a few voiced their disbelief, questioning why we would allow this transformation. Even my more liberal Muslim friends and acquaintances swiftly concealed shock when I introduced her. The hijab highlighted the obvious contrast between mother and daughter.

“Did you force her to wear it?” asked a voice shrill with the promise of delicious gossip later on. “But she doesn’t have to wear it, you know?” from others intending to inform me, a clueless Westerner. In their eyes I detected a flicker, a hint of blame as if somehow I must be responsible for my daughter’s “suffering”.

After all, they whispered, aren’t those who wear the hijab usually forced to? Aren’t they all dominated by male relatives, society and overzealous imams?

Their ignorance exasperates me, because I know a Salha, a Nadia and a Zahra and many other young girls who have adorned themselves with the veil on their own volition. Many third culture kids yearn to belong. In the absence of a parents’ homeland comes a sense of displacement, of questioning just as many other teenagers might question their very existence. Some find their identity in their faith.

As a Muslim convert, my path has been different from my daughter’s—an amalgamation of experiences and influences resulting from my years spent as the stepdaughter of a Muslim, growing up in a Muslim country and embracing Islamic culture and later, a Muslim husband. Even though each of us practices our religion in her own unique way, the two of us make perfect sense to each other.

Mine is a moderate, spiritual view. In a religion of rules, I follow the ones that speak to me in the most sincere form. I believe in the good in each man, child and woman, I trust that God is looking out for us. I know we are all loved.

My daughter practices hers on her own free will. She fasts and prays and has an unshakeable trust in the words that rise from the Quran. Hers is a journey galaxies away from mine, the strength of her character evident by her dedication to a lifestyle that is by no means easy in today’s world of skeptics. I admire her courage and wish I could have some of it too.

Wherever her life might take her, she will make her own way, her own choices as she always has. And then, she will stand by them. Her joyful certainty has me humbled. I’m in awe of her tranquil composure, her highly held head on which a delicately swirling, tenderly wound hijab rests like a crown. She carries it proudly, unflinchingly, unapologetically.

As she rushed to board her plane a couple of months ago, I followed her with my eyes. A sparkle caught my attention. I smiled at her newly bought earrings, the scarf that was coming undone in her haste.

That’s when I saw it. A single tendril of dark hair caressing her neck lovingly.

She turned, blew me a kiss and was gone.

Multicultural Book Review: I Have an Olive Tree

Meera Sriram — Tue, 01 May 2012 03:23:47 +0000

By Eve Bunting; Illustrated by Karen Barbour
Ages: 4+

Sophia’s grandfather “gifts” her with an olive tree on her seventh birthday. But the tree is on a small island in Greece where Sophia’s mother was born. A year later, her dying grandfather also entrusts her with her grandmother’s beads, urging her to hang them on her olive tree. All of this leaves Sophia, who is growing up in California, utterly confused.

This is how the story begins in Eve Bunting’s “I have an olive tree.” Eve Bunting moved to the U.S from Ireland and started her writing career with an Irish folktale. Later, she went on to write an array of diverse stories across age ranges, and won innumerable awards for her work. I particularly love her children’s stories dealing with war—narrated in very simple words, they are always powerful and moving.

Sophia is on a plane to Greece with Mama and then on a ferry to the island. Throughout, she notices how Mama is silent and nostalgic, yet at ease with a sense of familiarity. We experience the place through Sophia’s observations of people and things—a sponge seller, a priest, a flock of sheep and a man playing bouzouki catch her attention. More importantly, we see how strange and emotional she begins to feel at “home” with Mama, but in a land very different from what she now calls home.

Finally, beside two harmless goats, they find the olive tree. Sophia hangs the beads just like her grandfather wanted. But standing under the family tree and watching the beads sparkle in the sun, she realizes why really her grandfather had wanted her to do this.

The story evoked familiar emotions in us. While I easily related to the nostalgia of the adult, I am sure my seven-year-old found in Sophia the same mixed feelings that frequently grip her when we visit India every summer. During these trips, I’ve often caught my children struggling to react to my excitement at something that seemed ordinary to them. Naturally, we connected well with this story. But I can also see this book opening up wonderful talks about ancestors and heritage, providing an enriching read for children, parents and grandparents.

Karen Barbour’s colorful spreads take us on a journey to a Greek isle. One cannot miss the distinctly Greek people or several cultural nuances evident on every page. Gold and blue, characteristic of an island destination, dominate the color palette. The details congeal to create a mix of distance and longing, a feeling we often associate when we take ourselves and our children back to our roots.