As I've mentioned a time or two on this website, I am a pasty white chick descended from Eastern European peasant stock. My husband, in contrast, is a Devastatingly Handsome Chinese Man. Our kids are, in my totally not biased opinion, a gorgeous mix of the two. Chinese and, uh, Mutt.
I used to fret over Properly Exposing The Culture and all that, but at this point in our parenting careers we're pretty relaxed about the whole thing. The kids are well aware that they are "half Chinese" even if they don't really know what that means. They know they have Chinese grandparents, that we often go out for Chinese food, that Daddy is Chinese but Mommy isn't, China is far away, that girl on Sesame Street does indeed look Chinese - stuff that I feel is preschool-appropriate knowledge and awareness. I mean, it's not like we're going to sit them down tonight and have the Race Matters talk at age four and nearly-three.
That said, Jackson, in particular, is bringing up Chineseness quite a lot lately, and I'm sort of stymied as to how to respond. Possibly because he doesn't talk about it in a way that actually makes sense. Oh no, the stuff he's doing is, for bizarro example, picking up a ribbon from a birthday present, tying it around his sister's waist and telling her "that's Chinese". Uh, okay?