Katie and I went to see Yellow Face tonight, which is a play about Asian-American racial identity, among other things.

It was interesting.  I don’t spend all that much time thinking about the fact that I’m an Asian-American, and I haven’t really dwelt on the advantages and disadvantages that this label/community confers, but I do feel like I’ve always been aware of it my entire life.

That, and a recent splashy Newsweek cover article labeled “Is Your Baby Racist?” got me thinking.  How much of my Chinese heritage will I impart onto my child?  How much can I?  How much should I?

Ideally, I’d like to give my baby the best parts of being an Asian-American and spare him or her the worst, but is it really up to me to decide which is which?  Do I even know?  And how good of a teacher will I be anyway?

As I’ve grown, I’ve felt less and less Chinese.  I hardly speak the language anymore.  I can’t read it at all.  I can’t speak too intelligently on most Chinese culture and history.  When I visit the country itself, I feel like a tourist, not like I’m returning home.

But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s a part of me, that I was born there, that I lived there for the first four years of my life.  I like that I’ve Chinese, I’m proud of it.  I guess I’m just not sure what it actually means to me or my unborn child just yet.