By Alex Cherup

Mouthing Off Editor

I am a member of the unnoticed minority — one not advertised as often as other ethnicities. There is no month to celebrate my type; nor is there a parade in our honor. However, I am the poster child for diversity. 

Because of this, people want to immediately identify me as a certain group to make me more containable.

Here are my Facebook-esque statistics for catagorization purposes: 

Age: 21 

Sex: Male 

Interested in: Women who read Mouthing Off. 

Ethnicity: Guess. Most think I’m: Eskimo-Hawaiian-Polynesian-Korean-Mediterrainian-Filipino-Italian-Greek-Lebanese-Mexican-Iraqi-Alaskan-Mongolian-Vietnamese-Hispanic-Native American-Chinese-Irish. 

I’m not joking, I have gotten all of these.

Yes, my ethnic grab-bag appearance has even confounded someone to think I’m Irish (my picture is on the right). 

Personally, I have always thought of myself as a hybrid anomaly; my own subspecies requiring my own classification. In fact, if you would like to guess my ethnicity, go to oaklandpostonline.com and offer your guess. I’ll give a hint: I am half Asian and half Caucasian. 

The official term, “hapa,” is Hawaiian, and refers to half Asians. I don’t use the term. However, it is a legitimate word, implying that my people are out there. 

We even have our own Web site, mixedasians.com, and several Facebook groups, including “PAMMO,” or “Part Asians Make Me Orgasm,” which — ladies, take note — has over 300 members. Incidentally, I’m willing to assist any other women who would like to initiated a member.

The need and urge to stereotype is obvious, and I believe the confusion that my ethnicity brings prompts an uneasy curiosity with those I meet. The second question asked when I become friendly with a new acquaintance is always race related. 

The first question is simply “Do you know you look like Michael Jackson?” 

Nonetheless, the race inquiries are odd. All of my grandparents were born in the United States, I am not bilingual, I have never left North America, I choose whiskey over vodka and I loathe sushi —  if I’m going to pay that much for fish, it better be cooked. 

Yet the general public immediately masquerades me as an ethnic challenge, aside from my pure Americanism. I am the unintentional face of all minorities. 

And to the other ethnicities who think they have it bad — I get blamed for all of your stereotypes. To the Americans who are intolerant bigots, I am the illegal terrorist who owns a casino, lives in an igloo, can’t tell the difference between hello and goodbye, will run them around in a rickshaw and do their laundry. 

At least they think I am good at math, and I can get away with a variety of different ethnic jokes. 

It also doesn’t help those with uneasy curiosity, that, if my hair falls correctly, I look like Lisa Marie Presley’s ex-husband. I’m sure some elementary schools and Toys “R” Us stores even have restraining orders against me. As a matter of fact, the longer my hair, the more Jacko comparisons I draw. I use it as a gauge of when I need a haircut.

The difficulty in identifying me has prompted some to take refuge in comparing me to celebrities. 

In addition to everyone’s favorite alleged child molester, I am the guy from “Entourage,” the dad from “The OC,” Stephen King, Jeff Goldblum, Eugene Levy, a skinny Elvis, Clark Kent, a young Neil Diamond, Jack White, Johnny Depp in “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” and other odd movies, John Lennon’s sons and Raiden from “Mortal Combat.” 

From Stephen King to the guy from “Entourage,” apparently I resemble the worst and best looking celebrities. Mathematically speaking, that makes me mediocre — okay for a blind date, but nothing more than that.

The unique nature of my appearance stings the layman with the apprehensive urge to pry. It is a good reflection of society — we love to label and categorize, and when something falls outside the prepackaged categories that our modern politically correct world has organized, uneasy curiosity results. 

Progress has been made, but there is still more required for the future. 

The standardized tests of grade school are the epitome of the disregard toward individuals of my background.

For the ethnically indecisive child, the most segregated segment of existence involves the introduction of these tests. 

On the test, there is the “race” question, where it seems like 67 races are listed, none of which apply. African American, Caucasian, Slavic, and even Pacific Islanders are represented, in case a Komodo Dragon is trying to get MEAP scholarship money. 

I always had to settle for the last category labeled “Other,” and always felt forgotten. What sort of bigot wrote the test? Since I was forced to choose one ethnicity, I was marginalized to the same grab bag catagory as Bigfoot. 

I submit that all who selected “Other” in the past should join forces and work to stop this segregation. Perhaps “O of OU” or the “Others of Oakland University.”

Improvements are drastically needed — just look how the media treats “others.” The Nicole Kidman movie shows the disregard given to “The Others.” Completely racist! 

As for us real, live “others,” we need a month! A parade! A fraternity! 

There are more than just me. The managing editor of this paper is a hapa. Michelle Branch and Apolo Anton Ohno  are both hapas. There are a variety of genres, which are referred to as Eurasion, Amerasian, Blasian, and Hafu. We are out there.

So, if you see an individual on campus who might be Italian, Korean, Mexican, or Greek, but you can’t tell, congratulate yourself on identifying a hapa. 

If he also happens to be doing the moonwalk, then stop and say hello.