#oh green cards are identity documents to let you stay in the US

[disregardandfelicity]

(11) Neighbor AU 🏡 & (52) Marriage of convenience 💍

Ok finally have time to write one of these! This one's the easiest cause it's basically just an idea I already have (and that I think we've discussed a bit ☺️) but I fleshed it out:

The fic takes place from Joe's POV. He moves into a new apt building, this cute guy who lives 2 doors down the hall gives him a hand. Joe doesn't catch his name though, it's all just nice flirty banter before he disappears into his apartment. He meets their neighbor in between though, and tries to subtly ask if she's met whoever lives on the other side of her, though, and she says Oh, the newlyweds?

And Joe is disappointed, but let's it go - they barely know each other after all. He can't help but peer through the peephole sometimes though at them going by, although he never does more than casually wave to Nicky's wife.

Nicky though, he does keep chatting with. They keep similar schedules, they get their mail at the same time. Nicky ends up hanging out at Joe's place a lot. ("Won't... somebody miss you at home?" Joe tries to casually ask, as Nicky spends more and more time just stopping by. "No," Nicky says just as casually, and Joe decides not to pry. Maybe the honeymoon period is over already.)

One night, over at Joe's place, drinking some super fancy wine Joe won in a raffle at the office. Nicky knows something about wine and is pretty excited about trying it and they're a tiny bit tipsy on a half bottle each and also just having a good time, and Nicky leans in and kisses him against the counter. Joe goes with it for awhile, but then when Nicky tries to tug him back to Joe's bed he is like Nope wait no. I can't do this. It's not fair to your wife.

And Nicky is like 😳 how do you know about that. And Joe is like WOW you weren't even going to tell me you were married? Fuck off. And Nicky is like no no no, it's a green card marriage. I'm not even attracted to women. Also my wife is a lesbian, no one is being misled here.

And they all live happily ever after, defrauding the government! 🥰

[fortunei]

[#3] [#4] hilda/lys, AU

a/n: experimental vampire AU with a world where vampire needs “official” donor.

hilda/lysithea

-

The first thing to do when a new vampire moved out to a new town, is applying for donor request at the Blood Bank.

The system of ‘Blood Bank’ and ‘donor for vampires’ might look absurd at first, knowing how vampires have been a food for many gruesome tales within generations with its somehow unquenchable blood thirst and yadda yadda for roman stuffs. Then again, the system allowed the vampire race to stay in harmony with humans, a mutualistic symbolism, if one may add. Frequent blood donor is proven to make body healthier, though, such frequency should only be done to a human that passed the criteria handed down by the Ministry of Health and Welfare.

“I see that you’ve applied for the donor request yesterday after your arrival,” Edelgard, sipping on her favorite Bergamot tea. Still dressed in her full black Fodlan’s Officer attire, she answered Lysithea’s quick summon for a middle-night tea time.

As much as vampire of this era can endure sunlight, they will find the night as unmentioned luxury. Perhaps it is in their genes, despite how the bodily trait changes and adapt to the coming era. Vampires easily mingle and become one with society, no longer feared and much worshiped. Some vampires even no longer has an affinity to garlic or holy water. Also, vampires can taste and ingest human food – though it would not convert as a better energy source than drinking blood.

“Your poster is already up on the main board of Blood Bank request. It shouldn’t take too long until a suitable donor is found.”

“Isn’t it kind of strange, don’t you think? With all the technologies around us, they still bothered to tuck the paper on a board. Beside the large, floating hologram board of information database, nonetheless!”

Lysithea quipped. She swiped another chocolate chip cookie from the top of the dessert tray. She checked on her phone on the table once, as the notification dot blinked furiously. Turned out, it is just another scam message, not an e-mail from the Blood Bank.

Blood Bank may hold the database of vampires available in national scope, but they could not pinpoint a new donor right away when someone moved out from one place to another. As long as the vampire has filled out the papers and posted the donor request at the Blood Bank, usually the Bank staffs will notify the vampire as quick as they can, or so they compromised.

“Well, forgive my city’s antics. It’s just my uncle who didn’t want to ditch that ancient board.” Edelgard bowed her head down slightly, though a smile played on her lips.

Actually, Edelgard is not exactly the owner of the city, it’s just that she hold a high rank on the city’s council. By Edelgard request, Lysithea is relocated there from Fodlan’s Branch Office of Derdriu to The Old Capital to collect up records of vampires as a Librarian. There can be any other Librarian beside her, but then Edelgard will always butter her up saying ‘You’ll do great here working alongside me’ or something close to the line.

“How’s your first days at The Old Capital, then?”

Lysithea found herself scrunching her forehead first before responding on Edelgard’s question.

“The Librarian here is quite strict, though I admire their thoughtfulness as I have yet to fit in their schedules. Well, I guess I should blame Lorenz for making everyone seems so carefree and wanted to get a free teatime with him ever-so-often.” Lysithea eyed Edelgard, who looked pleased at the good mention of her subordinates.

“It was nice working with them.”

When Edelgard took another delightful sip to her tea, this time Lysithea’s phone vibrated. The screen lighted up with an unsaved caller number on the top. Lysithea swiped the button to green, answered almost automatically.

“—we have confirmed your donor. The person will like to meet you two days from now at the Blood Bank around noon.”

Lysithea scrambled to seek her small planner rested beside the tea and cakes. She was waiting Edelgard earlier while scribbling her schedule of next week. Two days from now is Saturday, a weekend. She got a Librarian shift at the morning till noon. A perfect time.

“Yes, I can arrange the meeting with my donor. May I know of their identity?”

“We are sorry, but the needed documents are still on process. We can give you on the spot by the same day.”

“I see.”

Lysithea’s answer tinged with disappointment, but it cannot be helped in either way if the documents were not ready. Edelgard waited, hand supported her chin as Lysithea listened some more of the direction by the staff and finally the phone call ended.

“Well, I hope this new donor of yours won’t be as worse as your … former ones.” Edelgard mused.

Resting her back on the cafe's big chair, Lysithea sighed, despite the words being one kind of an encouragement rather than a sarcastic remark. “Hopefully so.”

x x x

Lysithea has always been a person who’s on the clock in any kind of appointment. While it couldn’t be helped that she missed the time when she is supposed to meet her supposed-to-be donor because of her own job, Lysithea couldn’t erase the dread welling up inside her.

One of the Librarian called out because of sudden sickness, so there’s only three Librarians doing the job in this fine Saturday. The Librarian’s main job is to collect ‘Archives’, an old history records to vampires and other supernatural creatures, rechecked its viability, cross-examined the sources, then putting out to the sea of database for next batch of checking until it can be available as a True Archive. Sometimes, the Librarian also took a job on translating excerpts for specific customers, since only Librarian can understand almost all old phonetic code across all races.

The technology and science might have surpassed everything in the civilization. Then again, there are many things that required human power and traditional ways.

After finishing her commissioned excerpt, Lysithea bowed the other two workers goodbye, re-stating that she is in hurry because she is going to meet her donor. The other two are happened to be human, by the way, not all Librarians should be a supernatural creature.

With a spring in her step, Lysithea took the road with most shades toward the Blood Bank, which is not exactly far from The Living Library of the Old Capital of Enbarr located. Before entering the Blood Bank, she pulled her slack pale violet cardigan close to her chest. She was sure to leave her ID card away at the workplace so no one will happen to scan or identify her by default.

Just as the name suggested, ‘Old Capital’ is a historic town with most of the historical tall brick buildings and ruins of fortress intact aside of two other big cities. Derdriu, the city where Lysithea originally been, have a lot of water-based tourism attraction aside with its skyscraper, also with popular virtual theme park infamous to all Fodlan. It is so pale in comparison.

Blood Bank is always crowded, 24/7, even more crowded than how a regular human hospital is in the dead of night. The counter clerks are mostly automatic answer machine, but there will always be vampire clerks on duty. Blood Bank is operated by vampires, though it is a mandatory for a normal human to know how it works as human is their main patron. Vampires only visit there occasionally for donor request and donor cancellation.

Unsure what to do when she arrived, Lysithea steered to one standing clerk beside the large floating hologram board.

“Excuse me, I’m the applicant number #4455484. I heard that I’d be meeting my donor today.”

“Ah, right. Please wait as I checked the registry,” the clerk accessed the menu with her smartphone. Lysithea waited as directed, clacking her soles on the parquet flooring, silently count on how long it will take for an answer.

“Your donor is waiting for you at the waiting lounge … and now, she is right behind you.”

“Behind m—“

Lysithea froze as she turned, greeted by a cheerful ‘Hi’ and an assault of hug. As though they are in friendly basis even though they haven’t ever met. She wrestled away from the surprise hug, flustered. She gave the human a strange look, but she didn’t flinch, just smile wide – a patronizing, welcoming smile.

This human has a straight pink hair donned in peak twintails. She wore something … fancy? Flashy trench coat top in bubblegum pink-ish color? An outdated vampire with no taste of fashion couldn’t describe it well. It’s like, something out of the shop’s aisles that just been there for less than a day and swiftly bought.

Overall, what is striking to Lysithea on the first impression is her scent. And her arm muscles. And her rack. Wait. She shouldn’t be thinking about the last one.

“Oh, gosh. I was about to ask the clerk of where the heck is the requester was. Been pacing the room all the time thinking whether I’ve been fooled~”

“Sorry, work got in the way.” Lysithea explained.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I don’t mind the wait,” she winked. “So, when we can start?”

Lysithea blinked at the question, dumbfounded. “Huh?”

As if on a cue, the said human flashed her neck, Lysithea jaws dropped. She can see the nape that’s once concealed. She can see the pale, supple skin. She can- “What are you talking about? Isn’t it the sip time?”

No. Lysithea. Get yourself together! Her inner self screamed. “W—Wait. No. Not so fast. And no. We don’t drink d-d-directly from humans!”

“Huh, you don’t?” she tilted her head.

The snow-haired vampire felt the urge to slap her forehead, “Is, is this your first time to donor? Don’t you read the guide book first?” she shot another clueless, innocent face, and Lysithea gave up.

“We vampires only asked you of blood when necessary, which is at most once a month, given in that bag we provided. The bag will need to be sent to Blood Bank, where we can retrieve it.”

The human did seem to pay attention and she didn’t interrupt when Lysithea said her piece. Let's consider that she understand the terms of service, then.

“This meeting is just a mandatory.” Lysithea ended her short speech, a groan from the back of her throat should be audible enough to exemplify her annoyance.

“Eh? Why? Aren’t we supposed to get to know the vampires? It is there in the guide, if I remembered correctly.”

“How, how can you give me more headaches just in a span of a minute?” Lysithea scoffed. They sure have caused a scene, and she is sure that the clerk behind them is watching … quietly. She is not wrong, however. There is indeed a passage in there for the donor and recipient to be well-acquainted. Lysithea didn't think being so friendly with the human donor will get to anywhere, though.

“That’s … just how the things are.”

The human made a long hum, unknown of affirmation or of confusion. Those garnet eyes rolled momentarily before she clapped her hands together. A Eureka bested in her, maybe.

“We should just go for the unorthodox way, then!” Lysithea knotted her brows even more. “I know a good place down the road that you may like. We can chat over for lunch, I’m hungry!”

“Wait, I haven’t agreed—“

“Come on, vampire!”

"I haven't catch your name yet."

"It can wait! I don't want to miss the restaurant's special Risotto so chop chop!"

[Oh, how she wished for Edelgard to be there, watching her to perish in yet another unfortunate encounters.]

[voidendron]

The Outside: Chapter 51

Series Ask Blog: @asktheoutside​ I’m probably going to change my update schedule to every other Sunday. Trying to get a chapter out every week is getting stressful and I don’t have time for anything but that and work anymore so it’s wearing me out. I’m sorry, guys. ^^”

Chapter 51: Place to Stay Chapter Warnings: Blood Mention, Swearing

Chapter under the cut

March 1, 2031, 12:04 PM Los Angeles, California

Mouth twisting as he dumped the contents of his wallet onto the desk in their hotel room, Anti could only shake his head. He barely had enough for another night, and he knew Jameson had even less to his name. They couldn’t go to Seán. He was already housing four Egos, and Anti didn’t even have Mark’s number, so that was out of the question. Who knew where the hell Schneep was now; it had been over three months since he’d gone missing, and there was no luck in even the tiniest of leads.

Chase? But Bing lived with him already.

Anti could only grumble under his breath. He did not want to live in an already-crowded duplex, even for a little while, with a goddamn android. They’d be at each others’ throats the whole damn time, and that was a given.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, then let his fingers drift down to the scar at his throat. It still didn’t feel right. It should have been weeping, sticky, staining his shirt so he had to have Wilford clean the blood. He pressed his fingers against the smooth, silvery skin that proved the wound once existed; once a grisly, ragged gash for so many years. The flesh sliced cleanly where the blade had been sharp, but becoming more torn whenever the chips marring his knife had caught skin and pulled more than cut.

He couldn’t feel his fingers against the scar. The nerves were too damaged, leaving it and the surrounding flesh numb.

What was the deal with the humans’ plane? While it had never hurt, he could still feel the area perfectly fine. Why now that it was “healed” was it numb? Sure, severe scarring worked like that for humans and other injuries for Figments, but the gash? It had been part of his design. Why would it go numb?

He pressed his fingers against the former wound, stifling a cough when he pushed too hard against his throat.

The bathroom door opened with a creak as the glitch counted his cash, free hand rubbing at his neck. He glanced up as Jameson cut toward the dresser. He had a pair of slacks on, but his chest was bare as he toweled his hair dry. Tiny scars with a few long ones scattered about marred Jameson’s chest and shoulders and arms, and Anti knew if he actually looked hard enough he’d find the matching ones around his lips from the magic accident that had cost him his tongue. The ones on his lips were hard to see anymore, but the glitch knew they were there.

The younger Septic’s pale eyes flicked up as he rummaged through a drawer for a shirt, a peppy grin falling over his face in a silent good morning to his companion.

That grin fell away when Anti didn’t offer a response.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. Anti only glanced at the slide briefly before turning back to the desk and grabbing his cash so he could stuff it back into his wallet.

“Gotta find somewhere to stay,” he grumbled. “Just about outta cash.” He slammed his wallet onto the desk with more force than necessary, earning a flinch from his companion as the slide fizzled out of existence from the startle.

“We’re not gettin’ jobs any time soon,” he continued, “so we’ve gotta fuckin’ rely on someone else to house us ‘til we do.”

Jameson pulled a button-up on after draping his towel over the dresser to air-dry. His speech-slide appeared again, only to go spinning off to the side as Anti swatted at it; green eyes following the blank slide. It disappeared as soon as it hit the nearest object—the bedside lamp—without disturbing the item itself.

“Just…” Anti shook his head and grumbled something to himself.

Chase was about the only viable option. And the glitch did not want to crash at the same place one of the androids lived.

“Your phone charged?” At the other’s sheepish expression, Anti rolled his eyes. “’Course not. Just—pack up your shit. I’ll try gettin’ a hold of Chase.”

Pocketing his wallet and grabbing for his cellphone, the older Septic searched through his contacts. He glared when the screen flickered, cursing when it got worse for a moment before he was able to reel his glitches in enough to actually use the device. If there was anything positive he could say about the androids, it was that they knew how to make a phone. Any other besides the one made specially for him, his glitches would have ended up completely frying it within a few months even if he was careful.

“Yo?” Anti rolled his eyes when Chase picked up on the second ring. His voice was a lot quieter than the glitch was expecting. “I’m kinda busy. You need somethin’?”

“The hell you busy with?”

“I’m, ah…at the DMV? ‘Bout to take a driving test. I shouldn’t even be on my phone right now, man.”

The glitch blinked at that. Even as they could hear vehicles roar past the hotel on the highway just beyond, Anti had forgotten how prominent they were for travel Outside. Back in the Figmental Plane, it was easy for an Ego to teleport themselves or, if they didn’t have the ability, it was so common it really wasn’t hard to find someone who could and was willing to put aside a few minutes to get you where you wanted to go.

“Okay, whatever. Just—” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Anti grumbled to himself. “We’re almost outta cash and need somewhere to stay for a while.”

“Why didn’t you call earlier? Dude, my god! Look—agh, your timing fuckin’ sucks right now. Just…” Anti could just imagine Chase smacking himself in the forehead, “there’s a diner uptown called Riley’s. It’s this old-west-style place. Super obvious. I’ll see if the Twins can meet you there. If they can’t, just wait for me to get done here and we can talk then.”

“Fine, fine.”

The line went dead when Chase hung up and Anti pocketed his phone. “Catch all that?” he asked as he turned to the dresser to see Jameson folding clothes and putting them in his backpack. The younger Septic offered a shrug. “…Just pack your shit.”

Jameson’s brows arched and head tilted just ever so slightly to the left. “I am doing so. You are the one standing there and watching~”

“Oh, shut up,” the glitch mumbled as he reached for the backpack held out to him.

He didn’t own as much as Jameson, but he still couldn’t get the pack to zip once he’d stuffed all his clothes into it. How Jameson’s still had spare room by the time the younger Septic had finished, Anti had no idea. Shouldering his bag with a huff, he waited for his companion to clamor back to the nightstand situated between the two beds so he could snatch the little Sam plush off of it. He adjusted his vest before clipping the plush to his belt loop, fingers petting through the soft material. Anti could have sworn a frown fell over his face for a moment, but then the youngest was perking back up and scurrying toward the door before the glitch could be sure.

A final sweep of the room to make sure they weren’t forgetting anything, and they left for the last time with Anti casting a lingering glare at the electric lock. The staff never had sent someone to fix it; they didn’t even need the key card to unlock it anymore. It simply wouldn’t lock. Piece of crap.

The glitch slapped both cards onto the counter, startling the woman behind it, and then the pair was gone with only a few quick words to explain that they were done with their room of three months.

Three months. Anti shook his head as he pulled out his phone for a GPS route to Riley’s.

Three months Schneep had been MIA.

Three months Anti and Jameson had been Outside.

Three months they had been pretending to be Andrew and James Jackson. It had been a surprise when Bing’s documentation for them said “James” rather than “Jameson.”

It was easy to forget how iconic a name Jameson Jackson was. Even to the fans who had moved on, it would return the memories. But the Egos saw it as a name. A name for a living, breathing person. Not a…character. Never just a character.

The glitch glanced down when his companion tugged as his elbow and pointed at a door just ahead of them, right near the end of their current block. Riley’s. How long had he zoned out?

When he pushed the door open, the pair was waved down by two other, identical, men. The Twins, he thought as he led Jameson to sit at the table. He hadn’t realized until then that he hadn’t seen the Twins in person since they’d come Outside; only on the news. They were both fucking beanpoles. Not as tall as Marvin, but definitely up there. With how clumsy they could get while running around, he had to wonder if they’d tripped over their damn spider legs yet.

“Why don’t you order something? We’ll pay,” one of them said. He was wearing a loose-fitting tee-shirt, and his hair was a mess. …Jimmy? Maybe? Anti had no clue how to tell them apart.

The other twin nodded. He was wearing a fitted, long-sleeved shirt. It was dark blue, and looking like something out of Marvin’s wardrobe back home, with his hair combed back neatly. Seriously, which one always had the disheveled hair? “Then we’ll get an Uber and head home. Bing’s got the kids at a museum today, so we’ll get you settled in a room or something.”

The glitch watched as Jameson flicked his wrist under the table, a small notepad appearing in it with a spark. Anti grimaced at how bright it was, but none of the other patrons seemed to notice. The youngest offered a sheepish look before standing.

“Want anything?” he signed clumsily. It took Anti a moment to actually figure out what it was he’d tried to say.

“Ah…sweet tea. That’ll be good.” He watched Jameson scurry off to the counter after taking a twenty from one of the Ipliers, notebook in hand so he could write the order rather than sign it. Turning back to the Twins with brows raised, Anti leaned back into his seat. “Ben know about this yet?”

The fact they exchanged a look with frowns pulling on their usually grinning faces said a lot. And Anti didn’t like what it said.

“Ah…no, he doesn’t,” Jim…Jimmy? answered, running a hand over his bare arm.

The other shrugged, the blue material of his shirt pulling taught across his chest as if it was almost too tight. “He’s…ah… Well, he’s probably not gonna take it well.”

If Anti could still growl, he would have. Instead it came out as more of an angry sigh deep in his throat. “Fuckin’ wonderful.”

[kowsdontski1]

Today marks the 32nd anniversary of the first official observance of Martin Luther King, Jr., Day as a national holiday in the United States, and on this day I felt it important to tell the stories of “othering” in our own personal family trees.

I was raised in a community where the “others” were often those of different religions. I grew up in Utah as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS or “Mormons”). I wasn’t necessarily taught this othering at home, but I saw it and learned it from the discourse around me: at school, in social gatherings, in the workplace, and at church. Many Utah LDS families inherited a deep distrust of outsiders from their ancestors who experienced persecution and intense harassment leading to an official extermination order from the state of Missouri and their eventual exodus from Illinois to what was then Mexican Territory.  Terms like prejudice and racism never entered the conversation, and I was well into adulthood before I learned to put a name to the fear that governed that public discourse. The name is xenophobia, an intense and irrational fear of aliens. I’m not talking about little green guys with antennae growing out of their heads coming from distant planets; I am talking about human beings coming into our communities from different places, cultures, and religions.  Here in the United States, that can be anyone.

Before I get started, let me make a disclaimer. In no way do I intend to downplay the significance of discrimination experienced by Americans of  African descent. There can be no excuse made for the maltreatment of Black Americans today and in the history of the United States. It’s just that today seems like the best time to focus on xenophobia in my own family history. Not that it matters to me, but there is no evidence of African blood in my DNA, and I have simply not found any such stories to tell.  Not yet anyway.

Dad’s Story

So I begin with a simple story from my father’s childhood. Dad was born in Olean, New York and lived there until he was thirteen. During the 1940s, attended Olean Public School no. 7 there. As Dad tells it, there were two doors serving students in the school, the main door on the East, and a side door on the South. The side door had been claimed by a large group of Italian students, and when teachers weren’t looking, they patrolled the door for encroachments upon their self-proclaimed territory. The “Italian” door was closer to Dad’s route home, so one day he decided to leave through that door. As he heard the door latch behind him, he knew he was in trouble. There was a group of kids waiting at the bottom of the steps. Dad took off at a run and managed to escape, but looking back at that day, Dad said, “I learned to run real fast.”

Public School no.2 in Olean.

Public School no 10 in Olean. Both photos are as they probably appeared in the years when Dad attended Public School no. 7 in the 1940s

Even though many Italian Americans share similar physical features, their mostly fair skin and European facial features keep them firmly entrenched in white-American society. The only way those schoolchildren truly know whether one came from one European background or another, was to be well aware of families in the neighborhood and the other students attending their school. So when the Hawaiian Kwiatkowskis came to stay with family following their mother’s death in 1952, their unfamiliar faces and tanned complexions immediately identified them as alien.

Tod and Ski’s Story

Being the youngest of the Hawaiian clan, Ski doesn’t remember much about his trip to New York in 1952, and he does acknowledge that there are many reasons why resettling in New York didn’t work for Leo Kwiatkowski and his five children. However, the one obstacle to the widowed father and his family that Ski remembers well is the othering of himself and his siblings by New Yorkers who could not accept mixed marriages. As Ski put it,

It was almost scandalous that a white man from New York was marrying a dark skinned Hawaiian woman.  But it was not at all as scandalous as some might have thought as a lot of us newer generation Hawaiians are mostly of mixed blood, so inter racial marriages started way back in Hawaii, where there really is no racial bias or prejudice.  The only bias, if one could call it that, was a form of reverse discrimination where the Hawaiians were very wary of any white man and how he would fit into “our” society.  Our society is very, very different from that of the mainland U.S.  The most glaring difference is the mixture of races and the harmony in which we all live.  Japanese, Caucasian, Negro, Hawaiian, Filipino, Chinese, Korean, Puerto Rican, Portuguese, and the list goes on with as many ethnic groupings as the earth holds.

Tod remembers that time as “a tragic and confusing time for five children, ages 14 to 5, and a single Father with no job, and no income.” Although both brothers admit that racism was just a part of the issues facing the young Hawaiians in New York, xenophobia often has the effect of further alienating families from the very places where they go to seek refuge, just as it did for this family.

Mom’s Story

The Jews of Europe know that story well. Those who survived the Holocaust and chose to return to their European homes faced an uphill battle to reclaim their ravaged property and maintain an uneasy peace among many of their neighbors. Their numbers are significantly reduced from pre-Holocaust days. Those who chose to seek asylum in the reformed nation of Israel have yet to find peace. Still others who scattered to the Americas denied their identity as a form of protection to their progeny. Such was my mother’s case, as she was in her early twenties when her mother finally revealed her Jewish identity.

I grew up believing that racism and cultural bias did not exist in my Utah home. It wasn’t until I returned to Utah after living in California for two years that I could truly see the extent of xenophobia in my beloved mountain home. Although that’s another story for another time (and maybe a different blog), the most profound example came when my empty-nester parents moved into a typical Utah suburban home. One neighbor who came to welcome them into the neighborhood, exclaimed to my mother, “Thank goodness you are not blacks or Jews!” I’m sure she explained her reasoning that neither group could be trusted to my mother, but by that time, Mom was no longer listening and had firmly decided to look elsewhere for new friends.

Tony’s story

Our engagement photo taken by Denise de la Foye, 2009.

I have a confession to make. I am in a bi-racial marriage. Mine is not the first. It won’t be the last, but when we find such a thing among our ancestors it is not only a talking point, but often a source of contention. My husband was born in Hong Kong, China and came to the United States when he was just three months old. He grew up in the near suburbs of Chicago, and when people ask him where he comes from, his answer is always the same, “The United States.” He grew up here. He knows nothing else, but unlike European Americans, his skin color and distinct facial features belie the fact that he was not born here. He goes by the distinctly Western name of Anthony, so when I tell people who have never met him that my husband is an immigrant and his name is Anthony (“Tony”), they nearly always say, “Oh, he’s Italian, right?” No.

It seems pretty common for Chinese immigrants to take on an “American” identity when they come here. Most I have met go by names like David, Catherine, Alexander, and Marie. On his birth certificate, his name is Sai Fung, but on his naturalization papers, social security card, and other official documents, he has always been Anthony. We didn’t think anything of it until he brought his Illinois driver’s license into a Utah DMV to exchange for a new one. I was able to exchange mine within a matter of minutes. For Tony, it was a matter of months. Six years  and a move to Kentucky later, all of his legal documents identify him by a name no one but his siblings recognize. I blame xenophobia cloaked in our Patriot Act signed into law on my 36th birthday.

As Tony was nearing the end of his legal paperwork nightmare, a casual encounter with a drunk man at a bus station revealed a side to Tony’s life that I had not yet seen or understood. The drunk man approached my husband, and said, “Fried rice on the side?” Giggling to himself, the man staggered off. It was not the first time my husband had encountered such ignorance, but it sure helped me understand Tony’s lament, “Sometimes I wish I was white.”

We can’t deny that xenophobia exists all around us, and it would take willful blindness to claim that there is no racism in the midst of our families and ancestors. But we have to face it as it happens, and learn to acknowledge it. It is so easy to claim superiority based on the color of our skin and country of origin, but we must be wary as it happens to us. To be clear, my surname is Kwiatkowski, an obviously Polish name. As happened with the Italians in my father’s grade school, it would be just as easy to group together and claim racial superiority based on pure Polish blood. That is, until one encounters another who has had different experiences and sees life from a different narrowly appointed point of view.

My dear cousin Bernie illustrated this point in a Facebook Post quoting Thomas E. Watson, an American politician from Georgia. As Bernie points out, Watson is “Talking about [our mutual] ancestors from some hole* in Eastern Europe. *That would be Poland.”

So here it is, the quote by Thomas E Watson in 1912:

“The scum of creation has been dumped on us. Some of our principal cities are more foreign than American. The most dangerous and corrupting horde of the Old World have invaded us. The vice and crime they planted in our midst are sickening and terrifying.” Thomas E. Watson, 1912

It has not been my intent to preach or to politicize my family history. I simply want to create awareness. After events such as those in Charlottesville, West Virginia, last summer, I have become hyper-aware that xenophobia in the United States seethes barely beneath our surface.  We need a new way of looking at things. As my cousin Ski explains, “Hang loose is an expression we use to say “Just chill, take it easy, there’s no need to rush” and it befits the island lifestyle.” We could learn a few things from the Hawaiians.

Family Xenophobia Today marks the 32nd anniversary of the first official observance of Martin Luther King, Jr., Day as a national holiday in the United States, and on this day I felt it important to tell the stories of "othering" in our own personal family trees.