Youth Opinion : Song Strikes Wrong Chord

When I was very young, I didn’t know what an ethnic background was, let alone being prejudiced. I was told that my mother was from a “faraway land called Japan” and my father was from America.

When I went to school, all my friends meant the same to me. It made no difference if they were African American, Jewish or Latino. They were all just friends to me. They were no less or more of a friend regardless of the color of their skin. And being friends, we all enjoyed our jokes and songs.

The most popular song went like this: “I went to a Chinese restaurant to buy a loaf of bread. They asked me what my name was, and this is what I said: ‘L-i-l-i, chickaly, chickaly, pom-pom beauty, don’t drink whiskey, Chinese, Japanese, Indian chief. Good grief!’ ”

To us, the most hilarious part of the song came when we made our eyelids point up for Chinese, down for Japanese and crossed our hands for Indian chief. The joke was funny up until second grade, when either we had become too “cool” to sing it or had just forgotten about it.

And all during that time, I didn’t realize that I was Japanese. All that time I was laughing at myself, making fun of my ethnic background and I didn’t even know it. We were only 6 or 7 years old at the time and I had already made a terrible stereotype of not only Chinese and Japanese people, but of myself.

I had forgotten this song until I went back to Oakwood Elementary School to see my old campus. As I entered the kindergarten class, an old memory was revived.

A young Chinese girl and a few of her friends had made a small circle and were singing songs. I recognized none at first, but when they invited me to sit with them, they started singing that song about Chinese and Japanese people. Although it had been years since I sang the song, I remembered all the words and hand motions perfectly.

As they all laughed hysterically, I tried desperately to laugh along with them. But inside I was truly hurt. I stayed calm, biting my lip not to say anything. Yes, they were only 5 or 6 years old, and they didn’t even know who I was or what I was, but that was what hurt the most: They didn’t know a thing about me.

I pretended it didn’t affect me at first, but, in all sincerity, I will never forget it. Not only had it offended me, but this little Chinese girl was making fun of herself as I had done.

I wanted to tell her this, to warn her not to make the same mistake I did. But it was no use: It was funny to them.

This stereotype would be ingrained in their minds forever. A new generation of children, although being taught that “what really matters in a person is their inside,” was keeping this terrible stereotype alive.

I pity me. I pity them. And I pity all others who keep this stereotype in their minds. Even though they are working hard to stop racial tension and hate, there will always be someone who’ll keep this stereotypical song going on the kindergarten playground.