My
mom has always told me I’m Chinese. Not American despite being born here. I have always rebutted
her assertion with the fact that I am actually Chinese-American. She usually thinks about it for a few
seconds, and then gives me this dismissive look of disapproval before agreeing to accept it. I
guess it’s better that Chinese is still a part of me.
But
when I tell her it’s too hard to speak Mandarin to my kids all the time when my
husband doesn’t speak it, she turns into a raging Chinese mom, reminding me
that I am Chinese! Do I not know
that? She has once said, "if you cannot teach your kids Chinese language, then you have failed as a mom." Ummm, excuse me? So, it's not enough that I love them and nurture them, cook for them, take them out, do fun things with them, because well, if they don't speak Chinese, then I have somehow failed regardless of any other efforts?! It's infuriating!
I just don't understand her sometimes. Is she saying this stuff because she hasn't thought it through and she thinks her threats of failure still mean something to me even though I'm an adult with my own opinions now? Does she still think I'm a teenager refusing to agree with her, only to tell her she was right later on? I'm not sure! "Well, I did it, so why can't you?!" I mean... honestly, this is not my first time hearing that (because unsolicited parenthood advice is so popular), but STILL! Come on!!! It is not apples to apples, both my parents spoke Chinese first, English second. Both my parents lived in America while still holding onto their Chinese identity, culture, and traditions, refusing to fully assimilate with the American culture. It's so different for them and for me. The challenges we face may be similar, but at the same time, they're also different! I appreciate my parents sacrificing all that the did to come here, to this foreign land of too much cheese, but I wish they would realize, along the way, I kind of became American.
Of
course, all the strangers who stop to ask me where I’m from would suggest
otherwise. Why can’t people just say,
“what is your ethnicity?” Is that so
hard? You don’t really care where I am
from and if you want to know where my ancestors are from so you can figure out
what I am ethnically, just ask what my ethnicity is! The next time someone asks me where I’m from
or what I am, I’ll tell them I’m from my mom’s tummy and I am a human.
In
reality, I guess it's safe to say I’m lost somewhere between American and Chinese. I learned to speak Chinese before I learned
English, but I was never in ESL. I ate Chinese food before I ate
American food, but I am a sucker for both now. I even watched Chinese
soap operas before I watched American ones, though it's rare that I'd watch a Chinese movie or show these days.
The
good news is I’m not alone. There are a
bunch of us ABC kids who were raised by our Tiger Moms, sent to Chinese school,
taken to dim sum every weekend, and taught that we were Chinese, not American. The symptoms of such classifications consist
of large Chinglish speaking abilities, ridicule by anyone in Taiwan about how
ABC dark and large we are, harsh judgment from white people in the 90’s about
the Chinese food we consume whilst in America (because these days, all Chinese
food, fusion or not, seems to be trending and hip), and belittled laughter from
Chinese people about our weak stomachs when we can’t quite hang with the
authentic street food when we visited Taiwan.
It
took quite some time for me to fully realize we just didn’t celebrate American
holidays like true Americans. In school,
I was taught about how the Indians and Pilgrims celebrated that momentous meal
that began the tradition for all future Thanksgiving meals. This meant a meal full of corn, mashed potatoes,
gravy, turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce would make everyone giddy with
excitement. We had turkey just like
everyone else, but ours was always stuffed with sticky oily rice and our sides
were always stir fried bok choy, noodles, mushrooms, and lettuce wraps.
Cranberry sauce or stuffing? That was a
myth in our household. I never had
either with turkey until I was in college. Meatloaf? What the heck is that? I didn't have my first meatloaf until I was married and having dinner with my husband's family a few years ago.
I
remember spending weeks on end during our designated craft time at school
carefully using a pencil to stick brown tissue paper all over a newspaper
filled paper bag to make a grand master turkey centerpiece. I remember taking it home to my mom, telling
her it was supposed to be a used for our Thanksgiving dinner, and then coming
home one day and finding out she had thrown it away. I remember another elaborate craft project
tying red and green tissue paper around a wire hanger that we had molded into a
circle to make a red and green and very festive wreath for our front door. I remember the excitement of bringing it home
to my mom who told me it was cute but that it wouldn’t fit on our door. I wasn’t devasted. I wasn’t even sad. I just accepted it as a reasonable
explanation and moved on. And then, when we used 6 pack can plastic ring to make another wreath, I did it with very little effort, knowing my Chinese mother would just throw it away afterwards. It didn't bother me, at least I don't think it did... just holding onto these memories might suggest otherwise.... but on the onset, I don't think it bugged me, I just knew this was life, and made a mental note to be a bit different with my own kids' future crafts.
As
a Chinese immigrant child, I didn’t have anyone reconcile the American and
Chinese traditions to me, I just appreciated what we did have. Chinese New Year. Lucky red envelopes with money in them. Chinese fireworks to scare off the monster, Nian.
Grand dancing lions and dragons.
Burnt incense and food offerings for the ancestors who had passed before
me. I eventually stopped wondering when
Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny would come, and started to focus on what
mattered – grades.
While
American mothers were teaching their kids how to make chocolate chip cookies, I
was rolling glutinous rice balls for our red bean soup. I don’t recall ever baking chocolate chip
cookies with my mom. We always purchased
baked goods from the American grocery stores for bake sale donations. Sometimes, we even stuffed them into ziploc bags to look more authentic and homemade. When I first discovered cake box mix and learned that those scrumptious cupcakes room mothers brought to us for holiday parties was easy to make at home, I was in pure heaven. I could not believe my lucky stars, and began making boxed cake mix ALL. THE. TIME. I even bought the little sugar crystals and store packaged frosting to go with it, so I could relive my favorite part of the elementary school holiday parties: the cake box mix made cupcakes the room moms brought us!
There
were just a lot of things my mother didn’t care to adapt to when it came to the
American culture. She never said I
couldn’t do what the white kids were doing, she just didn’t bring it up if I
didn’t. Girl scouts. Soccer. Pretty much any sport for that matter, which is a shame, because I am one tall girl! And because she didn’t really
understand the American pop culture of the time, we were essentially fresh off
the boat (“FOBs”). I looked like I was a
byproduct of Taiwan, not America. My mom
dressed me in shirts with awkward improper English phrases, and blouses and
skirts adorned with unfamiliar Chinese cartoon characters. My mom put my hair in pigtails with big
fluffy balls instead of neon shoelaces and anything of American trend in the
80’s. I longed for crimped hair, curled hair, or big bangs. Instead, I had flat straight Chinese hair tied up with fobby hair ties. And
yet I had a fantastic childhood… one filled with Chinese expectations and
American struggles and Chinese American happiness and success.
