LBCentric

Marauding Baboon Gangs Target Non-English Speakers

2009-11-25T09:18:00.000-08:00

A post on Slate’s news summary, “Slatest,” warns of the increasingly aggressive nature of South Africa’s baboons. It seems that more than 400 baboons have organized themselves into gangs and are ransacking cars, causing officials to worry about the threat to tourism in Cape Town during next year’s World Cup. The AP reports that a baboon called “Fred” opened “unlocked doors and jumped through windows to search for food.” Slate continues wraps up its summary as follows: “City officials fear that as monkeys grow more aggressive, non-English speaking visitors will be their first targets. ‘Tourism is going to go through the roof, and this equals exposure to naive people and rich pickings,’ a baboon researcher said. ‘People who stop the car, they're going to get raided.’”

Maybe Caroline and Annie, ESL teachers extraordinaire, can turn the threat of Baboon bias into an international teaching opportunity.

(The AP account, which is quite interesting, describes how city residents have asked for signage in many languages in order to warn tourists about the dangers of these wild animals. Slate omits this part in its summary.)

Is there justice in our land?

2009-07-21T14:46:00.001-07:00

Here are two reasons that make me believe that the answer is no:

1. Prof. Henry Louis Gates, Jr. the director of Harvard's W.E.B. DuBois Institute for African and African American Studies, was arrested outside of his home in Cambridge, MA. His crime? He was locked out of his house after a trip to China. The lock on the front door was jammed so he attempted to force the door open. The police responded to a phone call reporting two black men trying to break into a house, arrested him, and charged him with disorderly conduct. There are many things one could write to describe the situation, but Prof. Gates says it best: "There are one million black men in jail in this country and last Thursday I was one of them...This is outrageous and that this is how poor black men across the country are treated everyday in the criminal justice system. It's one thing to write about it, but altogether another to experience it." Read the article in the Washington Post.

2. Gov. Schwarzenegger may be smiling after his budget agreement, but is cutting services to seniors and children a good thing? Yes, California has a bloated budget. Yes, we are living in complex times where the federal, state, and local governments can't meet every need. But should we celebrate cutting access to health care? Is it reasonable to smile when the once vaunted California education system faces massive cuts? See the picture and read the article (LAT)

As the psalmist says, "May our sons in their youth be like plants full grown, our daughters like corner pillars cut for the structure of a palace; may our granaries be full, providing all kinds of produce;... may there be no cry of distress in our streets! Blessed are the people to whom such blessings fall!" (Psalm 144: 12-14) I echo that prayer for our state and for our nation.

Overheard Recently on the Train

2009-07-20T14:18:00.000-07:00

A man shouted into his cell phone, annoying many people on the train. I heard him clearly through my headphones and over the NPR broadcast. "Girl, I ain't had pig feet in a long time...I weigh 215. How much do you weigh? Girl, you weigh 226? You don't look like it in the pictures. It must be all in your butt." (He laughed. After a while, he hung up and spoke softly, almost tenderly, to a young African American man who sat down next to him.)
A Latino man in his twenties spoke with an almost radio-quality voice to a trio who seemed to be related: a woman in a wheelchair, a man with wispy white hair whose bulldog look made him look like a man playing a villain in an adaptation of a Dickens novel, and their brother in denim and Vans. They had a fascinating conversation about the comfort/discomfort of Vans shoes, the JFK assassination (in 1966), the George Orwell novel "1985," and other things that I wish I could recall. At some point, as I stood to exit the train, the young man looked down at his shoes and said, "Did you shave with Jesus?" Then he said it again, and again, six times in all. The trio looked at him, then at each other.

"S" Factor Online

2009-07-16T14:24:00.001-07:00

Here's the link to the interview with Don E. Miller in Books and Culture (www.booksandculture.com).

Gerardo Marti, a good guy, professor at Davidson College, and former visiting scholar at the Center for Religion and Civic Culture, posted his take on the interview here: http://praxishabitus.blogspot.com/. "In the course of conducting a sweeping study of Global Pentecostalism,Don Miller changed," he writes. "He went from being cynical to a sympathetic in his analytical stance. In the process, he proposes that social scientists take into account the ‘S Factor’ in studying religion.”

Career Aspirations (Circa June 2008)

2009-07-13T14:16:00.000-07:00

The other night, apropos of nothing, Daniel began to outline his future career. "After I graduate from college, I'll be 22," he said, "And then I'll play baseball." At the end of an 18-year career in the majors he’d hang up his cleats. (He estimated that he'd earn $20 million a season.) Since he will have completed law school in the off season, he will ready to launch his political career. Following terms as governor of California and President of the United States, he would then consider a return to baseball as a manager. "I'll probably retire after that," he said.

A quizzical look appeared on Lucy’s face."Then when will you become a librarian?" she asked.

(Our kids love librarians, especially their Great Aunt Lucia. Lucy is still considering the options. She's not sure whether to become a librarian, an illustrator, a writer, or a teacher.)

Tonight's Random Quotes

2009-07-07T22:33:00.000-07:00

Daniel just stirred in his sleep and said, "Hmmm. Nothing to do."

It was my turn to say goodnight to Lucy. She asked me why it was always "so short" when I said goodnight. "You just pray and then sing, and then it's over. When mom says goodnight, I ask her questions..." She rattled off a list of tough questions, the last one of which was, "Why are we alive?"

The "S" Factor in Books and Culture

2009-07-07T13:59:00.000-07:00

At long last, my interview with Donald Miller (the sociologist, not the author of Blue Like Jazz) appeared in Books and Culture. The interview isn't online yet, but check the site in the coming weeks.

Three Great Quotes

2009-05-20T09:55:00.000-07:00

I’m trying to get back into the blogging thing. To ease back into it, here are three quotes that have completely blown me away in recent weeks.

Annie Dillard, The Writing Life, on trying to jump start her writing:

“I drank coffee in titrated doses. It was a tricky business, requiring the finely tuned judgment of a skilled anesthesiologist. There was a tiny range within which coffee was effective, short of which it was useless, and beyond which, fatal.”

Carey McWilliams, Southern California: An Island on the Land :

“When the sunlight is not screened and filtered by the moisture-laden air, the land is revealed in all its semi-arid poverty. The bald, sculpted mountains stand forth in a harsh and glaring light. But let the light turn soft with ocean mist, and miraculous changes occur. The bare mountain ranges, appallingly harsh in contour, suddenly become wrapped in an entrancing ever-changing loveliness of light and shadow; the most commonplace objects assume a matchless perfection of form; and the land itself becomes a thing of beauty. The color of the land is in the light and the light is somehow artificial and controlled. Things are not killed by the sunlight, as in a desert; they merely dry up. A desert light brings out the sharpness of points, angles, and forms. But this is not a desert light nor is it tropical for it has neutral tones. It is Southern California light and it has no counterpart in the world.”

(This has to be the definitive word, the ideal form of writing about light in Southern California.)

The Sons of Korah, Psalm 85:10-13

“Steadfast love and faithfulness meet;
righteousness and peace kiss each other.
Faithfulness springs up from the ground,
and righteousness looks down from the sky.
Yes, the Lord will give what is good,
and our land will yield its increase.
Righteousness will go before him
and make his footsteps a way.”

(Is it me, or does anyone wonder how the Sons of Korah collaborated to write something so beautiful, so hopeful, and so true? And which brother was the editor?)

Playing/Praying

2009-02-11T10:55:00.000-08:00

At a recent barbecue, our kids were inside watching the game and I was outside with Joy and Lucas. We were playing some kind of chase/adventure game, of course, and the bad guys were gaining on us. Joy sat in the wagon, holding on as we avoided fallen oranges and leaf piles. Lucas tore around on the tricycle, shouting out instructions. “Watch out! They’re coming” There was a moment of tension as we braced for the onslaught.

Suddenly, Joy had a smile on her face and said, "Jesus help us! The bad guys are going to get us!"

"Lord, please help us!" I said.

Lucas made some explosive noises and then said, "It’s okay, they're gone."

"Thank you Jesus!" I said.

"No, that was me," said Lucas.

Lego N.Y.

2009-02-03T14:03:00.000-08:00

This is random, but if you have not seen illustrator Christoph Niemann's Lego art in the New York Times, you have to check it out. Here's the link: I LEGO N.Y.

Here's a sample:

Starbucks Monday

2009-01-26T11:50:00.000-08:00

While comparisons are odious, they seem appropriate today at Starbucks. I notice an Asian man in line ahead of me. He is short in stature, dressed in black, lean, muscular, armed to the hilt. His flak jacket, emblazoned with “Los Angeles District Attorney,” gives him a boxy, almost robotic look. Similarly equipped, his companions wait for their coffee with quiet intensity. They are ready for action.

In contrast, I am unfocused and foggy in my blue fleece jacket--a portable blanket. I am equipped with multiple pens, an uncharged I-Pod, bus tokens, a Bible, a software manual, three journals (spiritual, observations, reading), an AM/FM radio, and a digital audio recorder in an old eyeglass case. I am prepared for something, but not until I drink my coffee, pray, and catch the latest on NPR on the way to work

Overheard

2008-11-26T09:38:00.000-08:00

On the train:

"I don't trust nobody. It's every man for they self. Everyone got his own way of hustling, and that's mine."
"No, Del Amo station. Del Amo. Delano's a prison."

Starbucks:

Today: "Tell me the non-positive then!"
"We live in L.A., we don't help people."

A Construction site, an unseen person:

"%&@#$ Johnny Cash...%&@#$......God!

Redundant Problems

2008-11-12T11:16:00.000-08:00

Spam e-mail is horrible. Then again, sometimes the subject lines are brilliant, even approaching the koanic. Here's one that almost enticed me to read the whole thing:

"From Juergen: Redundant problems will fly away together with extra weight."

A New Favorite Quote

2008-10-28T13:50:00.000-07:00

Over the weekend, Caroline said that I should drop everything and read Roald Dahl's book, Danny the Champion of the World, immediately. Fortunately, I only waited a day before I got around to it. Here's a great quote from the book: "Ah yes, my darling, there is a whole world of sound around us that we cannot hear because our ears are simply not sensitive enough."

Wonders Abound

2008-10-24T11:02:00.000-07:00

From the train platform at Del Amo station, I observe a man in a tree. He stands on a slender branch, a modern halberd extending from his hand. A chainsaw dangles from a rope, but he is unfettered. The man tests his weight on a branch, then steps blithely without the use of his hands. He is hatless, crewless, and ladderless — a long row of trees in his path. When the train comes, I consider letting it pass to watch his artistry for another moment.

Isaac and I are on the road outside of Pasco, Washington, in the cab of a 24 foot truck. His father’s ’68 Mustang is behind us on a car carrier. There are sun-drenched vineyards to our left and to our right. With the windows down, the smell of grapes is intoxicating.

We are poolside, craning our necks to witness baptisms at Fountain of Life Covenant Church. It is one of those days when the pain and sadness that surround us — envelop us — separate like clouds and the rays of the sun warm us to the core. Today, the kingdom of God is palpable. John is in the water with Chef Mike and his brother, Rudy, in their oversized white robes. Mike came to faith and then invited his brother to “come and see.” Here they are in the pool being baptized, first Mike, then Rudy. When they are done, they hug John, and then they dive into the water and swim and splash toward the deep end of the pool. Lucas, age 4, smiles and says, “It’s just like the Olympics!"

Politics, Politics, Politics!

2008-10-17T15:45:00.000-07:00

In case you’ve been preoccupied with the elections, as I have, Real Clear Politics is a great site. The site features the most recent articles on the election. They also include links to news articles and opinion pieces from many perspectives. For example, the site has links to these two headlines: Barack Obama for President - Washington Post and A Liberal Supermajority Would Move the Nation Far to the Left – Wall Street Journal. I don't usually click on the links to Karl Rove's opinions, but it's good to be exposed to a range of opinions.

Another great site, in case you grow tired of the Main Stream Media, is the blog God's Politics, which features Jim Wallis, Tony Campolo, and friends.

Books, Bradbury, and Snoop Dogg

2008-09-16T16:15:00.000-07:00

It's not a happy time to be a book lover in Long Beach, CA. We knew it was coming, but the official news is that our chaotic and wonderful Long Beach used book store, Acres of Books, is closing its doors on October 18, 2008. The CRA plans to redevelop the area and the owners decided to sell the property to the city. In June, Ray Bradbury spoke at the bookstore and described it this way: "I love this place. I love the smell of it. When it used to rain...I'd come to Long Beach, I'd come here to the Acres of Books and I'd go in the back. The back section has a tin roof, and you can stand there, with the rain beating on the tin roof, making you feel good. And you're picking up the books, and you smell them, and you're alone with your loves in Acres of Books. That's why I'm here." (As transcribed by lbreport.com.) It’s not pithy, but I know exactly what he meant!

Fortunately, another book crisis was averted when, on September 9, the City of Long Beach adopted a budget plan that included funds to keep the main library open. Earlier this summer, the city proposed to close the main library in order to save $1.8 million. A public outcry, including a visit by Snoop Dogg (see the picture below if you don't believe it) and a lecture by Ray Bradbury, forced the city to revise its plans. A Press Telegram article on Bradury's lecture ended with this quote: "Long Beach is part of my life," he said. "I'll be back to help you the next time you need me." Thanks Ray!

What Are You?

2008-07-17T13:31:00.000-07:00

Lucy always saves her hard questions for bedtime, usually after the Bible reading, and the praying, and the singing are finished. I can’t recall how we got on the topic, but last night we talked about ways to answer the question, “What are you?” Of course, the obvious answer is: “I’m a person.” (This question is usually followed by, “No, I mean where are you from?” and then, “Where are your parents from?” with the goal of determining your race or ethnicity.) I told her that she could say she is both Japanese-American and White, or European-American. Lucy instantly responded, “Wait, we’re white? Who’s white?” (I was a little shocked, then I explained that Caroline’s ancestors are Scottish and English so that makes her European-American.)

Come to think of it, I've had my own moments of confusion in conversations about race and ethnicity. I attended the Calvin Festival of Faith and Writing in April. I had a great time, met tons of people, and had many enjoyable conversations. Unfortunately, I didn't realize that I had inserted an unusual level of awkwardness into around a dozen conversations. Several days after the fact, it dawned on me that when people had asked me about my background they didn’t want to know about my undergraduate education. I saw two other Asians at the Festival--out of a crowd of around 3,000 people--so I guess I would have asked about my background, too.

Two Unexpected Highlights

2008-07-17T11:38:00.000-07:00

I pulled out Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring (yet again), and I was struck by two passages from the first chapter, “A Long-Expected Party.” As the years pass, I don't rush through as quickly to get to the action.

“The fireworks were by Gandalf: they were not only brought by him, but designed and made by him…They were all superb. The art of Gandalf improved with age.” (I hope that, like Gandalf, my art--chopping vegetables? skipping rocks?-- will improve with age.)

“Many young hobbits were included, and present by parental permission; for hobbits were easy-going with their children in the matter of sitting up late, especially when there was a chance of getting them a free meal. Bringing up young hobbits took a lot of provender.”

A few months ago we started buying provender at a place that Mark Mikasa calls “Costco-land."

Visual Absurdity at Work

2008-07-16T09:58:00.000-07:00

There are many strange sights in and around our building. We have a main elevator that doesn’t usually work, a service elevator where one must press “5” to exit on the fourth floor, and other oddities. Here are a few images to give you a flavor of the absurdity we see every day. (My favorite is the “No Smoking” sign next to the Liquid Nitrogen tank.)

Glorifying God Following a Day of Trouble

2008-07-14T12:18:00.000-07:00

John gave a sermon on Psalm 50 with an emphasis on verse 15: "call upon me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you, and you shall glorify me." Unfortunately, I'm much more likely to call upon God and less likely to glorify Him. In light of this, here's a partial list of times that God has delivered me:

Once, at the bus stop on the corner of Jefferson and Normandie, a teenage gunman started shooting from across the street. The abuelita a few feet away from me was hit in the leg, but the ambulance came quickly and she was okay, all things considered. The other seven bullets missed all of us standing at the bus stop.
The first summer after college, we returned to the neighborhood after our first year away at fancy colleges. After bowling one night, two guys with shotguns robbed five of us on our way home. Everyone was okay and we only lost around $8.
On April 29, 1992, the day of the Rodney King verdicts, our boss closed down our offices at 54th and Crenshaw a bit early. I hopped on the bus, around 4:00 p.m., rode to USC and got off the bus without realizing that the L.A. riots had started.
I was robbed a couple of other times, once on the way to work at USC, once when Reid and I were jogging home, and once on the bus. People said they had weapons, but they didn't use them.
In high school, a van drove by at a very slow rate as my friends and I stood outside of the auditorium after rehearsal. A guy leaned out of the window and yelled something at us as the van passed by. I was mad, and in high school, so I flipped them off. The van backed up and I said, "We've got trouble." My friend Wing added, "Right here in River City." A guy in a white shirt and baggy jeans jumped out of the car, looking angry. "Hey, it's only Tim," he said. It was a gang banger, but, fortunately, it was my friend Victor.
Also, it might sound small, but I made some really good progress on a writing project for work today. Caroline and I prayed about it on the way to work this morning. We sought the Lord, and He answered us.

God delivers us from all of our fears!

Parables

2008-07-09T21:37:00.000-07:00

Susan (Cho) Van Riesen has said some memorable things over the years, but I particularly remember two things that she said as a student and as a young InterVarsity staff member. First, she said that she had conversations with God where she would say something and He would answer. (My thoughts about interacting with God were revolutionized!) Second, she said that life was full of parables if we had eyes to see them. I was reminded of Susan's words during our recent vacation with the Parks family.

Parable #1

Two days before we left for Big Sur, our packing lists were set, but we were not sure what to do. Fires raged out of control in the area and sections of Highway 1 were closed to traffic. The campground was open, but smoke engulfed the coastal area. Should we travel to Big Sur only to be evacuated? Would the smoke make camping miserable? Should we change plans? We spent several hours disappointed and anxious about our ruined vacation. We desperately needed a few days in some kind of wilderness. The next day, when we decided to abandon hope of camping in Big Sur, Richard called us with amazing news: their friends had offered their condo in Mammoth to us for 5 nights, completely free. The condo had comfortable beds, a beautiful view of the mountains, and, our kids' favorite part, cable TV.

Parable #2
As we drove along Highway 395 from Mammoth to Tioga Pass, Caroline pointed out the results of a recent fire. On one side of the road, a wide swath of trees stood completely blackened. The fire had jumped the road and burned many trees on the other side as well. We looked to the left and right and noticed a pink ground cover that we first mistook for fire retardant. Looking intently, we saw that everywhere the burn area was covered in lovely pink flowers.

Sometimes God reveals mysteries and sometimes He just makes things as plain as day.

Flashback: Clarence and the Monkeys

2008-06-27T09:44:00.000-07:00

One summer night in South Los Angeles, Richard, Reid and I sat on the porch and listened to our friend, Clarence, talk about monkeys in the Vietnamese jungle. Clarence would often stop by in the early evening, asking for a dollar to buy a hamburger at the corner burger joint, or a cup of juice. He lived in nearby boarding house and came by when he was hungry or bored, which was quite often. He was a huge man with a large round head, thick hands, and a crooked nose—the result of his years as a boxer, he said. Clarence acted like a kid at times, widening his round eyes as he asked for a cookie. At other times, those eyes would well up with tears as he told us about some of the things that he’d done during his tours in Vietnam. “I don’t think God can forgive me,” he said. Even if I had a collar on, I don’t think he would have believed me when I told him that God could forgive even the worst things. He just cried and ate his burger. Then he would suddenly snap out of it and act like nothing had happened. We didn’t know if he’d experienced a brain injury as a result of boxing, or using drugs after his tours of duty in Vietnam.

On that summer night, Clarence was especially lucid as he sipped his plastic cup of juice. “Have you ever eaten a monkey?” he asked us. We exchanged glances then shook our heads. "Barbecued monkeys,” he continued, “That's some good eatin'." When he was in Vietnam, the members of his squad were often out in the bush for extended periods, growing tired of MREs and hungry for meat. When desire outweighed inconvenience, they hunted monkeys. with their M16s. "They’re hard to catch, too. The big ones are smart and they fight back, throw sticks , scream. But when you catch 'em and put 'em on a rotisserie stick. Mmmm."

Maybe it was the summer heat, but we pictured ourselves with Clarence, half a world away. We sat there for a moment of silence and imagined Clarence savoring his dinner the way that he put away a cheeseburger and fries.

Commuter Snippets

2008-06-26T11:37:00.000-07:00

At the bus stop an older man looks at me and we say hello.

“How are you?” I ask.

“Fine, thank you, but my arm is swollen.” He rubs his left arm and stares off into the distance. “I think it’s gout.”

* * * * *
A young man covered in tattoos (“562,” skulls, a web on both arms with a Shelob-like spider, others that I can’t recall) entered the train, sprawled in his seat and noticed a young woman seated across the aisle.

She was in the process of scraping off fluorescent orange from her nails.

“Do you know about the great stuff that comes in bottles and takes that stuff right off your nails…, nail polish remover?” he said in a droll manner.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” she replied.

Do You Believe in Miracles?

2008-06-18T15:01:00.000-07:00

In the interest of counteracting an overwhelming desire to sulk, here are a couple of great amateur basketball moments.

Once upon a time, Debbie and a dear family friend, Trinh, played for the Florence Nightingale Middle School Nighthawks. Our family went to a Saturday tournament to give them moral support, but we expected to be home early. King Middle School, the tournament favorite, had a roster filled with taller and quicker players; some even honed their ball-handling skills in the Saturday Japanese-American League. What Nightingale lacked in height, they didn’t make up with experience. Some of the Nighthawks even played in tennis shoes. Needless to say, they weren’t supposed to succeed.

If memory serves, Nightingale overachieved and reached the championship game. They were outmatched in terms of skill and physical size, but the other team went cold went cold in the finals, missing lay-ups and getting frustrated. The score was incredibly low, in the teens, I think. In the second half, the game was close and the Nighthawks trailed by a point in the waning seconds. The crowd assumed it was over, but they got the ball back and someone put up a wild shot. Trinh jumped up, avoided the trees, and came down with a rebound in the paint. As she went up for a shot, she was fouled, and the ref blew his whistle. With three seconds on the clock, Trinh was going to the free throw line with a chance to win.

The opposing coach, with predictable gamesmanship, called timeout to ice her. There’s no way a junior high schooler can overcome the pressure, I thought. Maybe, just maybe, she could send the game to overtime. Trinh returned to the line after the timeout and calmly hit the first free throw to tie the game. Impossible! She got the ball back from the ref, bounced it, and sank the second free throw for the lead. We jumped up and down and rushed the court when time expired. Trinh, thanks for the memories. (Note: I spoke with Debbie today and she couldn't remember beating King. Maybe it was a consolation game. By the way: I'd still trust Trinh to sink free throws in crunch time.)

Finally, this video from two years ago made me choke up. A friend from high school sent it to me the other day. It's a great story about an autistic boy who played an amazing game for his high school team.

Sometimes You Lose

2008-06-13T15:31:00.000-07:00

Last night was one of the most painful nights in Laker history, no doubt about it. It was so awful to watch the end of the game that Lucy curled up in my arms. Daniel left the room and tried to watch the Cartoon Network. Caroline said, “Now I remember why I don’t like basketball.” I woke up a couple of times in the middle of the night and wondered if it had all been a bad dream. Unfortunately, the Lakers allowed the Celtics to come back from an unprecedented deficit in the NBA Finals. Wow, that smarts. I almost feel like Debbie after Miami lost to Penn State in the national championship game. (She went to her room and slammed the door after Vinny Testaverde threw an interception at the goal line to end a brilliant last minute drive.)

The loss brought back a bunch of bad memories. Maybe I need to forgive Larry Bird for waving the towel and McHale for grabbing Kurt Rambis by the neck and slamming him to the floor. I don’t remember if I cried when the Dodgers lost to Reggie Jackson and the Yankees in 1977, but I cringed when Daniel checked out a book on Mr. October a few months ago. My blood pressure rises when I see Bevo, Vince Young, or burnt orange. (No offense to any UT friends out there...) And I still can’t believe that USC lost to Stanford last year. I know that you win a few, but sometimes it’s true what Maime Trotter says to Galadriel Hopkins near the end of The Great Gilly Hopkins: “All that stuff about happy endings is lies.”

June 12: Loving Day

2008-06-12T09:09:00.000-07:00

At Fountain of Life Covenant Church, we have a large number of multiethnic families and nearly all of the married, engaged, and dating couples are interracial. I'd list them all, but there are already three examples within the Sato family. (And I'm not biased when I say that FOL has some of the cutest kids around!)

It's almost easy to take interracial families within a multiethnic church for granted, but this morning I heard a story on NPR and read a blog post by Edward Gilbreath, an author and editor at Christianity Today. (Read the post here and follow his links to other coverage.) Forty-one years ago today, anti-miscegenation laws were struck down by the Supreme Court's decision in Loving v. Virginia. Richard Loving, a white man, and his wife, Mildred, a black woman, were banished from Virginia and threatened with imprisonment for violating the Virginia Racial Integrity Act of 1924. Here's a quote from the act:

"It shall hereafter be unlawful for any white person in this State to marry any save a white person, or a person with no other admixture of blood than white and American Indian. For the purpose of this act, the term "white person" shall apply only to the person who has no trace whatsoever of any blood other than Caucasian; but persons who have one-sixteenth or less of the blood of the American Indian and have no other non-Caucasic blood shall be deemed to be white persons. All laws heretofore passed and now in effect regarding the intermarriage of white and colored persons shall apply to marriages prohibited by this act."

It's hard to believe, but California's own miscegenation laws were struck down by the California Supreme Court in 1948. Read a brief summary. It's harder to believe that Charleston High School in Mississippi held its first ever interracial prom just a few days ago.

Lakers in Six

2008-06-10T13:03:00.000-07:00

“There’s absolutely nothing like a championship run to bring this city together,” said Lewis MacAdams on NPR’s “Day to Day” radio show. (Listen to the story.) He described the Laker flags on junky pick-up trucks and nice Mercedes-Benzes, fist bumps between poets and store clerks, and the general elation of Lakers fans around the city. Well, he probably wrote the story before the first two games of the series – and before the fight at Staples Center at the Game 2 screening (see the LA Observed post) — but I loved it anyway. Frankly, it’s true. People are quite willing to offer perspectives on Paul Pierce’s amazing recovery/healing, discuss the free throw disparity, and even cut people deals. (Back in 2001, a printer gave me a huge discount on a project and even rushed the delivery because we talked about the Lakers before we started doing business!) When the Lakers are doing well, it's easier to break the ice and cut across ethnic, class, and age divisions. A couple days ago, John and Becky saw a guy in a Kobe MVP jersey and had an evangelistic conversation right in their front yard. The power of connecting through powerful common interests cannot be underestimated.

Un-American?

2008-06-06T14:27:00.001-07:00

We were on our way home from a baseball game when Lucy said that her best friend Erica, the only other Asian girl in the first grade Spanish immersion class, will be moving in the fall.

"Will you miss your friend Erica when she moves?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Did you tell her?"
“Yes," said Lucy, "She said, ‘Everyone’s going to miss me.’”

Caroline left for worship team practice and the kids and I sat down to dinner. When it was time to clear the table, clean up backpacks and clothes all over the place, and water the lawn, Caroline called to say that Barack Obama was about to give a speech after clinching the Democratic nomination. I was excited and anxious to hear what he would say, but since we don't have cable, we listened to the speech on KPCC and watched for a few minutes on ABC. I said something like, "Guys, this is an amazing moment in American history. For the first time, a black man is a major party's nominee for the president!" We chatted for a few minutes about the remaining months of the presidential race. Lucy exclaimed, "But Dad, you're not even American!" I tried to re-explain what Caroline had said a few days before about how it's not your ethnicity or skin color that defines a person as an American. Somehow we got on the topic of their classmates thinking that the kids were Chinese, or that Japan and China were the same country. That led to a discussion about the largest cities in the world. The conversation soon devolved into Lucy calling Daniel "Tokyo" for the rest of the evening.

Maybe were not doing a good job of helping the kids through ethnic identity issues. Among other things, Daniel thinks that Caroline's vegetarian chili is Japanese-American food.

The Vacuum and the Marimba

2008-06-01T22:50:00.000-07:00

One day, on a lovely morning in May, I tried to spend some time praying and reflecting at Starbucks. I attempted, quite unsuccessfully, to tune out the jazz soundtrack, even a lovely arrangement of “Maria” from West Side Story, conversations about expense accounts and boondoggles, and complaints about finals. I read Genesis for a bit and then finished my feeble attempts to listen to God.

After a few moments, I picked up Madeleine L’Engle’s Walking on Water. She described being tired and injured with bruised ribs from a fall. She was recuperating between lectures when she had this experience:

"One afternoon I had a couple of hours to myself, and so I limped to the sea wall and stretched out and closed my eyes and tried to let go all my aches and pains and tiredness, to let go and simply be. And while I was lying there, eased by the cool breezes, the warm sun, bursts of bird song, I heard feet coming to me across the water. It was a sound I recognized, a familiar sound: the feet of Jesus coming towards me.

And then another noise broke in, and I was back in an aching body. But I had heard. For a moment in that hearing I was freed from the dirty devices of this world. I was more than I am. I was healed.

It was one of those impossibilities I believe in; and in believing, my own feet touch the surface of the lake, and I go to meet him, like Peter, walking on water. '(p. 197)

I finished the book, grabbed my coffee and walked out into the equivalent of silence in the city: street traffic. Instead of listening to NPR on the walk to work, I enjoyed a few moments of quiet. Suddenly, a memory grabbed hold of me as I waited for a traffic light. Once, as I walked around the neighborhood near 52nd and Crenshaw, in 1991, I was tired and a little depressed. I was walking and praying on a pretty little side street when I heard the sound of clanking armor all around me. I stopped walking and glanced to my left and right. No phalanx of angles appeared, but I was filled with a sense of peace and protection.

I felt that I understood more of what L’Engle meant about hearing Jesus walk towards her on the water. As I continued to walk to work, I passed the music school office and the drone of a vacuum cleaner interrupted my solitude. The noise was jarring, but as I continued, I began to hear a faint melody that increased in volume as I walked away from the office: the sound of a marimaba, skillfully played. The music was coming from behind the blinds of one of the practice rooms. Maybe I am an auditory learner because the lesson of the day formed in a prayer that came to mind: "Teach me Lord to hear your voice. Help me to be like Mary and choose the better portion. Help me to discern your voice in the midst of the storm."

Existential issues/Early Faith Crisis

2008-05-30T13:27:00.001-07:00

In the last couple of months, Daniel and Lucy have experienced existential questioning and struggles with faith, respectively. At dinner the other night, Daniel revealed that he keeps asking himself, “Why am I here?” He said that he can't stop asking himself the question and gets a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wonders where he’d be if he weren’t here. This is evidently happening when he is not reading the sports page, eating, taking standardized tests, striking people out during baseball games, reading books, going to church, watching sports, and trying to get his family to:

1. Play sports
2. Watch sports
3. Allow him to eat junk food.

We’ll see what he comes up with this summer. Fortunately, we have friends who report that their daughter is going through a similar phase, accompanied by a precocious use of irony and sarcasm. Daniel is working on this aspect of the existential questioning.

Lucy (age 7) recently her crisis of faith at bedtime after we read the Bible, prayed, and sang. In other words, it could be a crisis, or a sophisticated bedtime stalling technique similar to our niece Joy's (age 3) tactic of saying, "My nook fell out of bed" or "Mama, I need to cut my finger nails." Still, it's interesting that she hit some of the highlights. Here's what she said:

"Daddy, is the Bible real? I can't believe that people can live to be hundreds of years old. I can't believe that everyone on earth spoke the same language. I can't believe that Jesus turned water into wine. And I REALLY can't believe that a woman who is not married can have a baby."

Fortunately, she still believes in the resurrection.

"Urban" Baseball

2008-05-28T09:30:00.000-07:00

We were back in the park last night for another game in an interminable double-elimination tournament. Daniel's team, the West Long Beach Minor B Angels, had to win in order to play in the championship game tonight. The Angels played the Dodgers, the team expected to win the league. Dodger fans were out in force to cheer their team to the league title and then the city playoffs--at least that's what we think is in store. (In West LB, one can't exactly download the game schedule to one's PDA.) Suffice it to say that the intensity level was spurred on by the grown-ups, especially those with ghetto tendencies. Caroline told me to "let it go" when we got home last night. I have to say that I was irritated, but as we talked more, I could see the humor.

Here's a partial list of West LB Dodger Fans and coaches I had to forgive last night:

The woman who yelled "take that" after a Dodger pitcher threw a strike
The woman who yelled "take that!" after the next strike
The guy who stood behind home plate and blasted an air horn after one of the Angels struck out. (Are air horns allowed in baseball?)
The guy who blasted an air horn when a ball was in play.
The Dodger coach who argued a point for 5 minutes in order to "ice" the Angel pitcher in the top of the last inning
The guy who yelled "Hey Nomo, get off the field!" when I went out to compare score books with the opposing coach. (I told them that my name was Sato.)

The Angels played great defense to eke out an 8-7 victory, ensuring a final game tonight. To paraphrase the MLB Angel announcers, "Just another Halo victory...in the 'hood."

Domestic Abuse on the Bus

2008-05-22T10:51:00.000-07:00

The bus pulled up after a few minutes and I flashed my pass, took a seat in the back of the bus, and focused on election returns from the primaries, and my book, Madeleine L’Engle’s reflections on beauty. I needed to get to the park as soon as possible to watch the kids play baseball. In the row to my right, I noticed a man with an enormous head; the size was impressive, larger than a size 8 and even more massive with long frizzy locks. It seemed completely eclipsed the person in the seat next to him.

He leaned in, two inches way from his seat mate, and unleashed what can only be described as a foul, relentless, profanity-laced diatribe. To describe it that way makes it seem somewhat understandable, like a ballplayer losing his temper after a tough loss in the playoffs. But this was loud, hate-filled, and downright demonic. “Shut up,” I said internally, “I just want to read my L’Engle and get to the game.”

The man, in his 20s, did not stop cursing, yelling, and physically dominating the unseen person in the seat next to him for the next 10 minutes. The entire bus was oppressed and angry. Patrons looked back at him and said that he was crazy, in Spanish, or motioned towards him. He finally leaned back, and I saw that he had been speaking to an African American woman with a youthful face and no front teeth. Amazingly, she was not in tears. In fact, she did not seem fazed, at least by outward appearance, by what he was saying. I wondered what to do. Should I confront him? Would this result in more abuse later for this poor woman? I prayed for peace. I wrestled with anger. How could she take this? "You don't have to be with this abusive loser," I thought. "You deserve so much more than this!" Suddenly, he raised his voice and shifted in his seat in an aggressive manner. I turned off the radio, took off my headphones, and prepared to grab his right arm if he tried to punch her.

"I will get off at the next stop and f--- you anyway. I don’t care about the HIV or nothin’,” he yelled. He assumed a less violent posture and I stared out the window, prayed for God's mercy, and tried to prevent myself from shouting at him. The yelling continued. The bus was dark, oppressive, even in the late afternoon sun. It was as grim as the streets of Bangkok when John and I saw a chubby young girl in glasses, maybe 12 years old, with a middle-aged European man without a care in the world. I exhaled and continued to pray. Behind the dysfunctional couple, a 50-year-old man them was serene, his baseball cap and mustache were locked in place. Finally, a large black man in a huge blue shirts aid, “Big Dawg, take it easy," from the back of the bus.

In predictable urban fashion, the dialogue escalated rapidly.

“What? She’s my lady!”
“So what, she’s a sister.”
“Are you telling me to stop talking to her? You don’t know what we’ve been through!”
“Talk to me like you talk to her, Dawg.”
“Shut up.”
“You shut up.”
“Make me.”
“Let’s go.”

The Samoan man stood up, pulled up his sagging jeans, and dropped his wallet. The man in the cap picked up the wallet and returned it. The Samoan paused for a second to consider saying thanks, but turned back to the aisle and said, “I’m gonna beat you Polynesian style, dawg.” For an instant, he reached behind his back with his right hand, towards his waistband. I’m casual, but he was less than a yard away and prepared to launch forward and grab his arm in case he pulled out a weapon. His arms were thrice the size of mine, but I knew that he would be taken by surprise.

The man in blue, a head taller than the yeller, gave a wry smile and said “I dare you.”

“Get off at the next stop, and I’ll show you a Chamoro-style beat down.”
"I double-dare you," he replied.

The woman pleaded with her boyfriend. “Don’t do this, you’ll just be back in jail!”

“I don’t care. I got stabbed 23 times in the yard, it don’t matter.”

The man glared at each other from five feet away. The Samoan man's eyes were wide, pupils dilated. He was high, crazy, probably both. In my memory, his face was contorted in the exaggerated battle lust of Japanese samurai paintings or like a rugby player performing the Haka before a match.

The bus parked at the next stop and the driver, a 60-year old man with a droopy expression, walked to the back. “Let’s just take it easy guys,” he said with arms spread. The wild-eyed man returned to his seat. He sat down and talked to his lady, quietly this time.. Placid man stared straight ahead. The man in blue answered his phone and said, “Nothing's happening, really,” and laughed.

Mercifully, after a few moments, it was my turn to get off the bus. I breathed deeply and tried to shift gears to cheer at a baseball game. It took me a long time before the perfect line for the situation came to me: “Peace. Be still.”

The Dapper Man at the Bus Stop

2008-05-20T09:16:00.000-07:00

I waited at the bus stop next to a dapper man who wore his security guard uniform like some people wear a 3-piece suit. He carried himself with precision even when he sat and pulled out his cell phone. I sat there reading Walking on Water, by Madeleine L’Engle, as I waited for the bus to take me to the park, and simultaneous baseball games for our kids.

The security guard spoke into his cell phone and had an animated conversation. I tried to focus on election returns and L’Engle for a few minutes, but he said something that caught my attention: “I done prayed that sh__ through. If she wants to do something about it, she can GO AHEAD!” After a few moments, he finished his conversation and noticed my book. "What are you reading," he asked. I muttered something about a great children’s writer and her opinions on faith in God, art, and writing. He looked disappointed, but as he walked away, he said, “Enjoy the book. Every book is a great adventure.” “True,” I said, but I really meant that every day in Long Beach is an adventure.

Why Odd Thoughts from LBC?

2008-05-19T12:29:00.001-07:00

Do you know many Christian, C.S. Lewis-reading, sports-loving, urban church-planting, New Yorker aficionados in Long Beach, California? Holla if you do, because I'd like to meet them if their last names aren't Sato or Teter. (Bonus points if they like Wim Wenders, John McPhee, Fantastic Burger, and the works of Katherine Paterson.)

Once upon a time, in an op-ed writing class at USC, I asked a question of a local writer and NPR correspondent. I don't remember the exact words, but it was something about living in South L.A. and writing from my perspective as an Asian Christian. Her answer: "Who knew?"

Well, I don't know who knew what, and when they knew it, but I'm planning to write and see what happens.