I had a pretty intense argument with my parents a couple of nights ago. It all started with my dad telling us about an incident of discrimination that he faced in the airport by an immigration officer – not surprising since brown men are still seen as questionable terrorists but still very inappropriate and uncalled for. Anyway, I paralleled that story to our outing earlier that day at our bank. We were all going for our separate banking affairs but we arrived together. I went first – told the clerk (I don’t know what his job title is) that I needed to open up a savings account and he put my name on a list and told me to sit in the waiting area until a representative could meet with me. That was fine, but after I went to sit down he took my parents’ names and then asked if we were all together. They said yes and he said that he will get one representative for all of us. Then when we were waiting he came by twice to let us know that we would be helped shortly. The problem was that he only looked and talking to my father the entire time and disregarded my mother’s, my sister’s and my presence.

I brought up this story to illustrate a parallel of discrimination. My father was presumed to be a problem because of his skin colour and the perception of him as an immigrant, unwanted, and Other person. I was discriminated because of my perceived age (I look much younger than I really am) and my gender. Because my father was there he was of course regarded by this man (the service clerk) to be in charge and the only person worthy of being attended to. It did not matter than I had approached the clerk individually, placed my name on a waiting list, and was told to wait for my turn. No, my father was asked if I was part of his party. What right did the clerk have to do that? I am a separate customer and deserve to be attended to as an individual regardless of my perceived age, my gender, or my relation to any other person.

My parents did not see my point of view on this situation. They in fact were furious with my analysis and my “ego” that accompanied it. According to them, this man was doing his job and was respectful because he respected the role of the father. They did not see this situation as discriminatory towards me as a young person and a woman. They saw it as justified and acceptable because their status of privilege was acknowledged – both my parents for their age and my father for his gender. They took my opinion on the situation very personally and used it as another opportunity to bash me about how I do not respect my parents, unlike this man who showed respect for my father’s position. They then went on about how they should have never come to Canada because we (my sister and I) were out of hand and did not respect the sacrifices they made in coming here.

This is when I lost it. I hate emotional blackmail, and it was really hurtful that it came from my parents because I’ve seen how they have been the victims of emotional blackmail from other family members. How could they use that same tactic on me when they know what it feels like to be manipulated like that? I told them I wouldn’t fall for their emotional blackmail; that I do respect them and that many of my life decisions reflect my upbringing. It’s hard going against the norm but my sister have done it many times, but we have also adapted to our surroundings. We are not going to be like the way my parents were at my age. This is not India during the 60s/70s. Even people my age in India aren’t like how their parents were, and in many ways they are more Westernized than I am.

My parents have avoided talking to me for the past two days. Sadly this argument happened on my sister’s birthday and we had to have the cake-cutting the next day while my parents were semi sulky. They can be very immature and I’m not sure how to deal with them. I am not apologetic of who I am, the views I have or the experiences I have had that have led me to be this way. I will not feel guilty about myself because others do not agree with my views, my lifestyle choices, or anything else about me. And as much as it hurts me that my parents are not proud of who I am, I refuse to revert back to my self-hate days. Rather I want to continue to embrace myself and hope that someday they will be able to understand who I am and be proud of me.