Being a Role Model

Role Models.

When I was 5 years old, the only people I had around me to look up to where my older sister, aunts (ti’s), & the ladies on television. Fast-forward to a few years later, my mother’s side was in full swing with plenty of younger cousins around.

Let me start off by telling you, I am not the greatest role model. I don’t think I am a great one. And yet, because of family dynamics – I still am one.

I am the only one in my family pursuing a science degree after growing up primarily interested in the Arts. I learned the hard way in which college applications and financial aid work. I was the first one to leave the house to live somewhere else (school). I was the first one to struggle as broke ass college student. And to be quite honest, I am very aware that I am a shit role model. But there is a way I teach my cousins. There was a way I showed my brothers. And it’s to expose them to not only the good,  but also the bad and the ugly.

I’m not very conventional. Not in any sense. My parents? Very conventional. I’m Asian, my parents are conservative. No boys upstairs. Homework right after school. Get good grades. And the best thing Asian parents do? Protect their children from seeing the real bad of the world and only telling them about it in little detail. I learned about not talking to strangers. I learned about what words I shouldn’t say. I learned about where not to go and what not to do if it’s late. I learned about what I should do if I get lost. I learned about jail and what happens if you do something bad. But at the same time, they sheltered me. I had gone to Downtown LA plenty of times but never saw Skid Row. I was in the valley but never went to the parks where shootings had occurred. (And those parks were less than a mile away.) My parents took the world and shielded me from the bad. However, what my parents opened my eyes to, was something I learned that I wanted to be involved in.

I learned about third world countries and the struggle. I learned about how family comes before everything. My parents had great paying jobs. Some of my family didn’t. And I was always with my family. No matter what. I learned about nursing homes and the stories of our elderly. I learned about how some children don’t get to eat- poverty. I learned about how sunflowers grow and how gardens work. I learned about how great the sun feels as it kisses your skin when you’re at the beach. I learned about backyard barbecues and the illegal fireworks that you buy at the side of the road. I learned how bike riding, fresh air, and being outside is healthy. I learned about how minorities are looked down upon but we are still people nonetheless. I learned about how great my parents were in trying to protect me from the bad.

And I am proud to say my parents are my parents. Not everyone is perfect. They sure aren’t. I don’t expect them to be. But what I can do is take what they taught me, and take what I learned, and share that. With my cousins, that’s what I intended to do. My brothers were far too close in age to me to do the same. With them the route was a little different… I wasn’t a great big sister anyways. I was mean. (Lol, but I did tell both of my brothers that I love them – on separate occasions – they know. I’m not an emotional person.)

Growing up in a suburban community, there were only 4 or 5 Asian kids in the entire kindergarten class. (I think.) If I remember properly, I was the only girl. I started late. And all the Mexican children spoke to me in Spanish and I had no fucking clue what was going on so I just smiled and nodded. And when a boy called me “stupid,” I cried. And he cut a tiny hole in my dress. And I cried even harder. Still growing, I first heard the “F” word in the car when I was 7. Huge mistake on someone’s part, it slipped because some stupid guy honked at us when we were trying to merge with huge 18 wheeler trucks. (Dickhead!) I remember crying, thinking someone was going to get hurt because these trucks can easily destroy a minivan. And as I grew even older, I learned so much from my Caucasian friends that I don’t think without them I’d be the same person I am now.

Is it ignorant to say that? I don’t think so. My Caucasian friends opened my eyes to more than anything. They helped me learn what I know in order to open the eyes of my younger cousins.

They’ve seen me drink. They’ve seen me drunk. They’ve seen me curse. They’ve seen me dance. And I always look at them and say, “listen, I am old enough to do these things. And one day you will too. But right now you’re much to young so if I hear this or see this, trust me, it won’t be pretty. You’re still a kid, enjoy it. I did.”

And for my cousins they know. They know I’m just exposing them to the harsh realities. Of course, they weren’t toddlers. I like to keep that world of surprises and that everything’s good until I understand that they’re starting to question the world around them. Why? Because when that kid called me stupid, it hurt. He said the “s” word. And he directed it towards me. And I cried. A lot.

So when my cousins learned about these bad words (from school) … I told them not to say it. They’re much too young. One day, but not today. And I like to show them the reality of things. How hard it is. How easy. How playing outside and feeling the grass between your toes is lovely. How stargazing and finding constellations is peaceful. And how singing at the top of your lungs and dancing like a fool is not embarrassing but fun. And how being a child when you’re still a child is the best thing you can do because one day you’ll get older and miss what you used to be able to do.

But I also teach them about how a curse word is just a curse word people use when they’re old enough. And if they say it when they’re young, it isn’t right. How drinking can only happen when you’re a certain age. How drugs will be around you but it’s best to say no. How there will be bullies, but you have your family to back you up. And what they call you doesn’t matter because it isn’t true and they’re saying that because someone else hurt them. And how I will always have their back no matter what.

I don’t believe being a role model is about sheltering children. But opening their eyes wide enough to see the good, the bad, and the ugly. Children are smart. Some are smarter than you think they are. And using my judgment and talking to them as if they’re older, you learn. I know how I thought when I was their age. And I like to remember that. I knew how I liked to be spoken to and how I hated when adults crouch down over you. The most innocent minds have bright intelligence. The innocent and informed minds, I find, have the brightest intelligence.

If you can teach someone the difference from good and bad, or show them how they’ll know what’s right and what’s wrong, I think you can be a role model. As long as you keep them informed and not just show them. I always tell my cousins. I don’t just show up drunk. They’re old enough to vocalize how they feel. They’re old enough to understand some things. You might not agree with me. And that’s ok.

My cousins are good people.

None of them have gotten in trouble.

And with me around, none of them will get in trouble.

(And that’s because I reinforce that idea of not doing anything bad.)

Personally, I would want someone in the family to teach them about the ugly before someone else does. At least then, I can tell them if it’s appropriate or not. But my cousins are smart. They just know.

And I know they look up to me. But little do they know I also look up to them. We learn from each other. And they’re growing up to be strong, well rounded people.

I know because I can feel it.

As a role model, I must be doing something right. Right?