It may not matter for inanimate objects, incapable of altering their own sweet smell, but for humans a name becomes part of our identity. My voice rises slightly as I warm to my argument: It may not be a tangible part of a person, like a hand or foot, but what others call us — and how we name ourselves — matters in this world, I say. So the half vs. double debate begins in my family.
My Japanese husband dislikes the current trend among our bicultural married friends of calling the children of their unions "double." He understands the motivation: "Half" seems diminishing; "half" calls to mind the American epithet of "half-breed"; "half" implies someone not quite complete. But "double," he contends, is even worse. "Double" contradicts every convention of Japanese modesty in language, the most important being the tradition of placing yourself and your family in a humble position to others. "Why are our kids more than other kids?" he asks. "How can one person be 'double'?"
As always, his arguments ring with a conviction that could be truth. Still, the name "half" sits uneasily on my tongue, and I deliberately halt its trespass to my lips. "Oh, is he half?" a new friend on the playground will invariably ask. I smile and say, "I am American, and his father is Japanese." "Biracial" and "bicultural" seem a bit wordy for a 7-year-old with a soccer ball. I sigh inwardly.