There is nothing worse for us writers than to be caught flat-footed with nothing to say.
My friend Teri, the Cheeky Librarian, and I have been having some exchanges about snappy comebacks—you know, the perfect words to say in response to outrageous comments, usually from total strangers.
It’s happened to all of us, and not just about cancer.
Mommy and Me
Older Son is adopted, and since he is Japanese and I am a Northern European blend (German, Norwegian, French, Irish, English, and Scottish, since you asked), it’s pretty clear to the least-observant passerby that we are not blood relatives. But it’s also pretty clear that I am his mom, not the nanny.
When we lived in Japan, strangers, including young schoolgirls, assumed that my son was half-Japanese, since my then-husband was Japanese. As a result, they called my son a gaijin--a not-very-friendly word for “foreigner” and fussed over him like the baby panda in the zoo.
One afternoon I will never forget: Older Son, then 3, and I were in Hiroshima’s Peace Park with some friends, when a group of uniformed middle-school girls on a field trip surrounded my son, shrieking “kawaii, kawaii,” (“cute, cute”) as though they had encountered the aforementioned baby panda there in the park.
Since he was clearly enjoying the attention, I did not interfere, but I’ve always wondered what would have happened if I had marched up to the girls and said, “This child is 100 percent Japanese. Why are you making such a fuss over him?”
One reason I didn’t is that the snappy comeback doesn’t work very well in Japan, especially when uttered in Japanese by a blonde gaijin. Never has, never will.
Back to America
I divorced my Japanese husband and came home to the United States when Older Son was 4, and I was shocked and dismayed by the things people asked me about my son—total strangers, in public, in front of my child. (I thought, from the perspective of Tokyo, that people in the U.S. would be so much more liberal and accepting of our mixed-race family. Nope. Not so.)
Finally, I wrote a piece for the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, and writing that piece helped me come up with a few snappy comebacks. It also, I hope, helped educate well-meaning but somewhat-insensitive people about what kinds of comments are OK.
For example, “Why did his mother give him up?” is NOT OK.
Nor is, “He looks just like a China doll.” (Mothers of adopted Asian girls get this one much more often, as do Asian mothers of little girls, from whites who think this is a compliment.)
As Older Son grew, the comments stopped, for the most part. And I suppose this experience helped prepare me to some degree for the outrageous things people say—and ask—when you have cancer.
The Masked Librarian
Teri, The Cheeky Librarian, has written on her blog about the mask she wears to protect herself from sun exposure. I e-mailed and asked her how she handles the weird looks she gets when she goes out looking like Darth Vadar.
Here’s part of her reply:
Well, the only time I have had a really bad episode of someone staring at me and making a potentially rude comment was this week ON MY CAMPUS.
I will send a message to the faculty member in charge of professionalism, offering to speak to the group of students and let them know "What's up with THAT?!" probably shouldn't be the first statement out of their mouths when seeing anyone looking a bit different on our medical center campus. (I had to rush to give a tour in the library, or I would have used the time to educate the little bugger on just what IS up with me, and how it is a miracle that I am still walking around in public.)
I am working this episode up for adding it to the blog, and including links to sites that offer comebacks, if I can find any.
I dealt with the stares last summer (when I had the white burn cream all over my face) by just looking the folks straight in the eye and smiling, if they stared long enough. I guess it helps that I have been a “booth babe” in a hundred exhibit halls, and have gotten paid to get folks to look my way--who knows. (I exhibited at medical conferences and trade shows, and still exhibit, for information resources. Used to do it for the National Library of Medicine, now do it for our library.)
Rick heard a guy say something about “You'd think they would wash the cold cream off before leaving home” to his female companion, and he just spoke directly to him that it was burn cream. I could send Rick over your way, if you need someone 6'4" and about 300 pounds to be your spokesperson, too! It helps that he is former military--gets their attention.
Read the entire post:
Still learning how to cope with the after-effects of cancer treatment
Personally, I think the straight-in-the-eye-and-smile approach works well. Most people snap to when you do that. Sometimes I add "Excuuuuuse me?" to the eye contact.
My friend Jill, also a cancer blogger, has lymphedema, and when it acts up, or when she’s flying, she bandages her arm with puffy brown bandages from fingertips to elbow.
“When I look like this,” she says, “I seem to get more questions about what I've done to myself. Sometimes I explain the whole thing. More often than not, my response is to simply agree with whatever the questioner thinks has happened.”
So:
Stranger: “Did you break your arm?” Jill: “YES.”
Stranger: “Did you burn yourself?” Jill: “YES.”
Stranger: “Did someone hit you?” Jill: “YES.”
Jill explains: “If I agree, it doesn't invite more conversation on a subject I'm tired of talking about.”
I love this strategy. Can't wait to try it.
So Cheeky Librarian and I are both looking for snappy comebacks. Please send us your contributions. We could all use a cheat sheet of comebacks to deflect these remarks before they ruin a perfectly good day. In fact, I plan to write the best ones on my arm in waterproof ink.
@ Jeanne Sather 2007.
