Here's a little back story on my family to lay the groundwork for The Sh*t My Chinese Mom Says...
Since the three of us kids have grown up and moved out, my parents seem to be enjoying their lives more than ever, indulging themselves (well, mostly my mother) on cruises and travels, jewelry, and shopping. Perhaps it's the fact that they "can" because they were so poor when they were little or perhaps it's their way of showing others that they have "succeeded". But they really deserve it- they have worked hard to get to where they are. They have been happily married for 38 years and their story is one that moved from survival to perseverance, struggling to learn a new language, and working hard to achieve The American Dream.
My parents grew up across the street from each other in a poor, rural Chinese village in Guangdong province in the 1940s. My maternal grandfather moved to Australia to try to make a better living when my mother and her brothers were really young.
My mother has always been very artistic, enjoying painting, singing, reading, and writing, and fortunate to be able to learn English at an early age. My grandmother had a great eye for fashion and was a very talented seamstress so she made most of her own and my mom's super-stylish clothes, setting the bar early for my still super-stylish mom (although most of her clothes now are bedazzled, sequined, and of some type of animal print- bought in Shenzhen or Nordstrom Rack, ONLY after a sale). My dad is the 5th of 11 children. His family was extremely poor and constantly hungry, but my dad would still forgo meals in order for his youngest sisters to eat. It was a brutal childhood for him, but that lay the groundwork for his hard work ethic, pride, and frugality when he finally emigrated to Hong Kong and the States. As a kid though, my dad was a boy at heart. He and his friends enjoyed putting cow poop in discarded tin cans and lighting firecrackers inside them when girls walked by so that they would explode and freak them out. He didn't do well in school, and my mom refused to date him since he was "uneducated". When he finally passed the 8th grade (for the 3rd time), he was so proud of being the top of his class. My mom was unimpressed. "Hmmmph. It took you three times to pass that grade. You'd better be the head of your class!"
In Hong Kong, my father developed an interest in building furniture at my grandfather's woodworking shop. Being the frugal and practical person he is, my dad didn't believe in wooing my mom with flowers because they would wilt and die. He preferred more enduring gifts, such as furniture (he ended up eventually furnishing my grandmother's house with a whole dining set). When my mother was in her mid 20s though, my grandfather sent for them and they all moved to Australia. My dad scraped by for a few years in Hong Kong and finally moved to San Francisco, carrying on a 3 year long distance relationship with my mother. He worked odd jobs as a janitor and carpenter, went to night school, and learned English.
After 3 years, he finally saved enough to afford a trip to Australia, where he proposed to my mom with a simple, small diamond ring. There was a grand engagement party that was even picked up by the local newspaper. When my mother arrived in San Francisco the following year, they had a small, simple wedding and started their new life together, honeymooning in Disneyland. My dad earned his contractor's license and started his own construction company- moving from small home remodels to slowly acquiring parcels of land and building new homes on them. We were constantly moving around from house to house, as my parents bought land or old homes and remodeled them and sold them, but we were lucky to live in homes that my father built. Typical of Chinese families, we had to prove and earn our parents' attention (i.e. "love") by our good grades and behavior. But it was embarrassing to be the "ethnic" kid in your class. Instead of after school sports and weekend games, my parents enrolled us in piano lessons and Saturday Chinese school, like all of the other Asian kids in the Bay Area. We wanted to just die when we took out our lunch at school- a soggy leaky aluminum packet of smelly rice and fish with garlic black bean sauce or something. I think my mom would force me to drink some crazy black chicken feet broth made with tentacles and fungus and antelope balls when my non-Asian friends would come over just to embarrass me. Like most Chinese kids, we feared the frayed end of the feather duster (which was always close by my mother), usually striking if we "talked back" or broke something.
In high school, I loved Amy Tan's book, The Joy Luck Club. I realized that I was not alone- there were many other young Chinese American kids who fought with their traditional Chinese parents, and this book validated my insecurities and embarrassments, but also strengthened my pride in my heritage. Navigating the complicated and ancient practices of traditional Chinese customs is probably the biggest challenge that my siblings and I, along with hundreds of thousands of other young Asian Americans, have with their immigrant parents.
As our parents have assimilated to their new lives in their new country, they have had to analyze their traditional Chinese views and choose whether to compromise them when raising their American born children. In my experience, I have found that most Chinese parents are decidedly selective, usually enforcing the Chinese customs, no matter how outrageous.
So, when my parents, usually my mom, says the crazy things that she says, I have to remember the convoluted, conflicted life that they have endured, and be mindful about our cultural and generational differences. I have to just let them go and see the humor in the situation... and try to at least write these things down.
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