Envisioning endless possibilities through Hello Kitty Gangnam Style and more on Halloween
Each year, the University of Michigan Natural History Museum transforms into a magical space for Halloween. Young girls become princesses and fairies, while boys embody transformers and ninjas. My eight-year-old son dressed as a pirate, and I channeled Hello Kitty Gangnam Style. We return annually for the fascinating blend of science and storytelling, the impressive dinosaurs, and the remarkable whale exhibitions (Professor Gingerich's work is incredible!).
What strikes me most about this event is the powerful sense of possibility emanating from this wonderfully diverse crowd. There appear to be no boundaries as children of various races and ethnicities imagine their futures. Anyone can become a doctor or scientist as small hands explore the textured surfaces of mammoth and mastodon teeth.
On Halloween, imagination knows no boundaries. That's what I cherish about this celebration.
Education, too, reveals no barriers on this special day. That's what I love about the Natural History Museum. (When Chicago comes up in conversation, my eight-year-old son has just one word: "Sue.")
Even now, three weeks later, memories of that day and the imagination it sparked provide a shield against the divisive racist and sexist rhetoric swirling outside. I choose to believe that this hopeful vision represents reality, while the disturbing news stories—from the Petraeus scandal to secession talk to the Arizona woman who ran over her husband for not voting—are the aberration. After all, don't we all simply want to nurture our children's education and share a bit of candy?
It's intriguing how sometimes we must step outside reality momentarily to perceive what's truly real.
Literary Connections That Shape Us
Recently, I revisited one of my cherished novels, Milan Kundera's "The Unbearable Lightness of Being." Throughout my twenties, I consumed everything Kundera wrote through "Immortality"—"The Joke," "Laughable Loves," "Farewell Waltz," "Life Is Elsewhere," "Book of Laughter and Forgetting," "Unbearable Lightness of Being," "Immortality." These works profoundly influenced how I constructed my identity and envisioned my life. Then I paused. The reason escapes me now. For perhaps a decade, I primarily watched "Star Trek" reruns and read those bright yellow "For Dummies" books—so extensively that when Little Brother was two or three, he once started shouting at Borders, "Mommy! Your books are here!" as he ran from shelf to shelf, pointing out all the bright yellow books for me to read. Embarrassing but true.
A friend noticed me reading this book last week and mentioned it was among his favorites. Mine too. A fresh connection emerged. A new conversation began.
Last weekend I awoke to news that author Han SuYin had passed away at ninety-six. She's most recognized for her interracial love story, "Love is a Many-Splendored Thing," which became a film starring William Holden and Jennifer Jones in yellowface, plus a television series. However, the book I remember is "The Mountain is Young," a passionate hapa-desi love story written before people even identified that way. I rarely read romance novels, but a handsome man gave me this book long ago with simple instructions: I had to read it. Only now, years later, do I understand why. Set in 1950s Kathmandu, Nepal, against the backdrop of the King's coronation and populated with colorful characters like the charismatic Boris, the Kathmandu valley appears gorgeous, cultural festivals feel authentic rather than exoticized, featuring a woman writer, a stifling marriage, themes of self-discovery and spiritual awakening, the swagger of international development, and yes—that passionate hapa-desi love story. I recognized my own legs as the heroine's long brown legs ran down the path, and through her journey, I glimpsed possibilities that hadn't previously occurred to me. I posted a link on Facebook, and a new conversation sparked.
Moments of Recognition
Once in Chicago, while rushing from somewhere I can't recall to reach another forgotten destination, then-six-year-old Little Brother became thrilled to recognize the Picasso sculpture. He'd just learned about it in school, and there it stood in real life. We called out to the cab driver to stop so we could pause and appreciate it.
Possibility. Imagination. Conversations worth remembering.