Many of my early childhood memories in New York included weekends that were spent eating. During the week, my father toiled away at an architect firm for 16 hour days. My mother held the fort by keeping house, and by tending to my upbringing. Even though she was very dedicated in being a mother, wife and housekeeper, there were greater dreams brewing underneath her neatly coifed hair.
Mom when she was accepted by Martha Graham.
Initially when my mother first arrived to the US, she was accepted to the Martha Graham School of Dance. Prior to the US, she had spent many years studying at the elite Peking Academy of Dance. Her passion was built around dance, and then life happened. She fell in love at 23 and was pregnant with me. A major interruption to her dancing career, and a path that she has never quite recovered.
My mother never discussed with me about her disappointment, but she was sure to let me know what she had sacrificed in raising me. Ah, the Chinese mother's guilt weighs heavy, because it never just stops with you. In our culture, we always include all our forefathers, and the many generations that come before them. When you're being reprimanded, it usually includes a phrase that starts with, "Your ancestors ..." or "When I was your age..."
When I stayed with my grandparents in Hong Kong (details to come in another post), we used to have my great grand parents' portraits in our living room. By tradition, we hung them to constantly pay our respects to them, with offerings of food and incense. No matter where you drifted into the space between the dining table, the living room, making a phone call (with a rotary phone) in our sitting nook, or just idly watching TV, the eyes of the portrait would travel with you. My grandfather once said to me, "Remember, you're always being watched. They will always know what you're up to."
The Chang Ancestors
This scrutiny then carries onto the living with whatever aunts, uncles, and grandparents that you may have. The eyes continued to travel with me in person, usually at a dining table when I would meet them on weekends over dim sum. Weekend get togethers were family status meetings to see who had progressed the most during that week. My mother's family, in particular, were an extremely competitive group, and extremely loud.
If you have ever been to a traditional dimsum banquet hall, it seems that noise dominates the atmosphere. Often I amuse at the Western perception of the Chinese as being a docile culture. Just pay attention as to who will get the honor of paying the bill, and what were once peaceful conversations would suddenly turn into a serious fight club match.
Weekly status reports with my mom's family, the Zees.
When it came to giving the family status reports, the volume would always seem to get louder as each aunt would start touting their children's accomplishments. I would have memories of my aunts' voices pierce the general din of dimsum diners, when it came to that fight.
Aunt number 1 would start by saying, "Do you know how much violin lessons cost these days?" Aunt number 2 would respond, "I know, especially when my daughter has to go two times a week." Then entered my mom's comment, "Well, we're going to need to make more sacrifices over the next year to make sure our girl gets into the national violin championship." You can guess who won that round.