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My Turn
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From The Asian Reporter, V18, #2 (January 8, 2008), page 6.
From noodles to burgers and back
I am witnessing a metamorphosis.
Like millions of Chinese Americans, I grew up in a family where my parents were born and raised in China. They moved to the United States to find a better life and it was also where they met, fell in love, got married, and ultimately had me — their most "cherished and prized progeny."
OK, maybe I’ve never heard them use the term "cherished and prized progeny," but I digress. Let me get back to my point.
The point is, both my parents completely embraced the ideal that America was the grand social experiment, the place where the diversity of America is part of our national identity. It is the place where we would be both Chinese and American.
Despite having to learn English and the intricacies of Western culture, both my parents excelled in what they set out to do. My mother started out as a nurse before becoming the head of a library at a major university. Likewise, my father started out as a professor of electrical engineering at a university before starting several successful businesses.
Without forgetting their culture or values, they embraced Western culture. We rooted for our favorite football team every Sunday. We bought a station wagon with faux wood panelling on the side and went for rides on Saturday afternoons with no particular destination. On weekends, Dad would roast a whole side of beef just to feed the four of us.
If America ever had a melting pot, our family was swimming in the deep end.
Nowadays, my mom is retired and my dad is semi-retired. Yet, it has come as somewhat of a surprise to see the transformation I’ve observed at my parents’ house the last couple of years.
It began slowly, when I noticed the coffee table in the family room started getting stacked with piles of Chinese newspapers. Then I started noticing that nearly every evening I dropped by, one or both of them were watching Chinese soap operas. The next thing you know, mom and dad cancelled their opera tickets and have become aficionados of Lang Lang, the Chinese pianist who plays mainly Chinese music.
This last week, despite the fact that mom knows virtually nothing about computers or networking, she managed to install an internet service that connects to their TV and allows them to get programming direct from China and Taiwan.
What is going on here? It’s as if the melting pot is no longer stirring and all the ingredients have decided to "go their own way." If America’s acculturation really is a grand experiment, apparently my parents have decided to "revert to their original state."
Don’t get me wrong. I’m as proud as anyone of my Chinese heritage, and I’ve spent the last 25 years trying to understand where I came from and the history behind it. But, they brought me up in this country (refer to "Cherished and prized progeny" above) and raised me to value both sides of my cultural identity. I don’t like seeing either side getting short shrift.
For a little while, I thought I might need to alter my behavior to keep things in balance. Perhaps I could spend a little time savoring various aspects of Americana as the "yin" to the "yang" of my parent’s recent "re-calibration" to their roots.
I would do this by going on a road trip, driving a Chevy pickup, and visiting various baseball stadiums on my way to Cleveland’s Rock and Roll Hall of Fame while only listening to CDs of Woody Guthrie and stopping to eat only at roadside diners that served hamburgers, chocolate malts, and apple pie.
In the end, I decided not to make the trip. First of all, it’s nearly impossible to find someone who will rent you a Bassett Hound for a road trip, and secondly (and most importantly), I realized that even with all the Chinese videos and newspapers they have accrued, mom and dad remain quintessentially Chinese American.
How do I know this? Easy.
Look at where they decided to live their lives.