i’ve been home this past thanksgiving in orange county, california visiting my mother and father.
they are both vietnamese refugees that have come to america in the late 70s as a result of the vietnam war, both being “boat people,” having seen much suffering, and having experienced living in a war-torn, third world country. having come here with nothing in their teens to 20s, they went to college. they had an all out white gowned, church, reception with videographer and photographer wedding. they obtained white collar jobs. they own a home. personally, i think that they’ve achieved a great lot and have overcome a lot of adversity.
but they’re in their 60s. and they don’t speak english well. it bothers me when we go to an american fast food eatery, and the cashier or waitress is impatient and demeaning to my parents. i hate having to serve as the “translator” when i am present, despite the fact that they have successfully navigated this world without my serving this for quite some time, as i fear that it reaffirms whatever stereotype these people have in their minds about my parents. i get annoyed at myself when i so easily fall into this role, thinking that it makes the jobs easier on these people, but what does it mean for my parents and other individuals that speak with an unfamiliar accent?
in times when i wasn’t there, my parents share stories of when this lack of patience for communicating has led them to be taken advantaged of or have their opinions discounted. the most extreme example happening recently in a health care setting, where my dad served as the liaison between my grandmother and her health care team. this case led to - what sounds like - a clinical error, resulting in my grandmothers death.
my father and i went shopping during black friday at microcenter, an electronics store in orange county. my dad has been shopping for a smartwatch for a while, and had a few questions about them to the sales associate manning the electronic wearables station. i am going to gush about this sales associate because i was so impressed by how respectful he was to my father. he looked him directly in the eye — and not at me at all in this interaction — actually spoke to him in a normal tone of voice and at a normal tempo, and with a warm and fluent manner. it was so odd and super refreshing.
since being here in orange county, this has not been the only isolated incident, although there have been some of the more familiar encounters as well — probably a 50/50 split. i take this to mean that maybe orange county is diversifying more, and in doing so, providing more culturally competent service.
a lesson for or reminder to myself as well.