When I was a kid growing up in the San Francisco Bay Area during the 1960’s, my mom was what we called the yard teacher. School site supervisor is how the position is referred to now. Anyway, that meant all the kids knew her, saw her regularly and some even spoke to her or was spoken to by her, rather. I don’t know how many times kids would come up to me and ask, “What are you?” I knew they meant what nationality was my family.

I would say, “Filipino.”

And they would invariably say, “What’s that?” There was no real way to answer that for an elementary school kid.

Fast forward to me in the Junior High. Seventh grade to be exact. World History was one of my classes. One of the assignments, a major part of the mark I would get for the semester, was an oral report about a country of our choosing. I finally found a way to answer that question from grade school. I got an “A.”

Fast forward to High School. It was during my senior year that a law was passed that gave 18 year old high schoolers the right to review their school records. The day after the law passed, I walked into my counselors office and asked to see my file. While perusing all of the useless information, I noticed an unexplained “Z” next to my name. I pointed to it and asked my counselor, “What is that there for?”

“Oh that? That’s your racial designation. ‘W’ for White. ‘B’ for Black. ‘S’ for Spanish. ‘A’ for Asian.”

“So a ‘Z’ for Filipino?” I asked, looking for confirmation of the insult.

“Other. ‘Z’ is for Other.” Boom. No real way to receive that explanation except to be incensed.

I was disturbed by the designation and dismayed by the ease with which my counselor accepted, then shared the information. How is a “Z” anything but a slap in the face? How is an “Other” designation anything but complete negation of my heritage?

Fast forward 10 years. I am again living in the Bay Area after some time away for college. Stores catering to specific cultures/races are popping up all over the Bay Area while areas like Manilatown are crowded out of existence. But I can purchase Filipino products imported from The Philippines at nearby stores. My heart beats with civic pride for the Filipinos who are making a living while uplifting our people.

Fast forward another 20 years. The little Mom and Pop stores have lost business to the Asian supermarkets that are now all over the area. Goods from China, Japan, The Philippines, Korea, Vietnam, at al, are available in one big building. One stop shopping for all of our Asian needs. Life has been made so easy.

I am now in my 60’s. Joyful in the recognition that everyone knows what a Filipino is. Some even know where The Philippines is. Much of the credit goes to the talented Filipinos like Manny Pacquiao and Lea Solanga, whose abilities and successes are only matched by their pride in being Filipino. I went shopping in my local supermarket, non-Asian supermarket, and what was I able to buy? Ube. The Filipino purple yam previously only recently available online in powder form. I bought an Ube bun, filled with Halaya. We AREcoming up in the world.