Growing up, I always had difficulty accepting my Asian heritage. I hung out with “western” crowds, I lost touch with the culture of my people; eventually I forgot the language. I even changed my name. Alex, I thought. I can pass as an Alex.

When my son was born, I continued this trend. I raised him to be an American. Baseball and hamburgers, not ping pong and chow mein. This all changed one day when he was six. Why do you look different from all the other daddys? He asked. Why do I look different?

On that day I broke down and cried. I had the longest and hardest conversation of my life with him. On that day I finally admitted I was Wong.