Life Lessons: Reflections on an Asian-American Childhood

Life Lessons: Reflections on an Asian-American Childhood

Written by: Beverly O’Neal

 

As the Lunar New Year approaches, I find myself thinking about how my experiences growing up as an Asian American have shaped the adult and mom I am today. More importantly, I’m also reflecting on what aspects of my culture I’d like my children – who are half Taiwanese, half Caucasian – to carry with them.

 

My parents moved to California from Taiwan after they married. I was born in Los Angeles three years later, in the fall of 1980. After my sister was born in 1985, my family moved to Taiwan, then back again to Southern California shortly before my eighth birthday. Now that I’m an adult, I recognize how lucky I am to have lived both in America and in my parents’ homeland. But, as a child, I resented moving around so often, and I felt like an outcast everywhere we went. In Taiwan, I lagged behind the other kids academically, especially in math (we were beginning multiplication tables and fractions in second grade!). After moving back to the States, I felt even more out of place as the only Asian kid in third grade.

 

On my first day at school back in California, I stood in front of the class, silently panicking as the teacher introduced me to the class (at least, that’s what I assumed she was doing, since I couldn’t understand a word she was saying). I noted with dismay that the other kids were wearing T-shirts and shorts, and the girls had their hair down. As if being the lone Asian girl wasn’t bad enough, I was dressed in an embroidered gray jumper over a short-sleeved white blouse with a lacy peter pan collar, white tights and black mary janes. My grandmother had taken half an hour to plait an elaborate crown of intertwining french braids on my thick black hair. The other kids stared, and a couple of girls started whispering and giggling. At recess that day, those girls came up to me, smiled and asked me a bunch of questions. I eagerly answered each question with one of the two words I knew: “yes” or “no.” This sent them into screeching fits of laughter. I was puzzled but happy to have some friends. Eventually a teacher overheard and led the girls away; I later learned that they had been asking questions like, “Are you fat? Are you stupid? Are you ugly?” and laughing when I’d say “yes.” The teasing and bullying took other forms, too -- everything from my clothes to the lunches I brought (which weren’t PB&Js cut into triangles, but rather fish balls, rice and dumplings) was fair game. One day, the girls recruited a boy to push me down from the monkey bars, and as I lay flat on my back, they stood over me, lifted up the corners of their eyes and chanted, “Ching-chong, ching-chong” in a singsong voice.

 

My mom told me the best way to get back at those girls would be to work hard so they couldn’t do that to me again, and that people who were mean to others wouldn’t end up doing too well. With her help at home and special classes at school, my English improved quickly. In a few months, I had the top grades in reading, writing and spelling. I had also made a few friends, and to this day, I’m grateful for their kindness and resistance to peer pressure.

 

As I grew up, I started to appreciate my Asian-American upbringing. My experience being an an outsider in those early years taught me to be empathetic and kind to others. During college and my early working years, my ability to identify with those who weren’t part of the “in crowd” allowed me to bridge friendship groups and form connections with people whom I might have otherwise overlooked. Seeing how hard my parents worked to provide a good life for me and my sister, and hearing them tell us that “almost anything can be fixed by hard work” instilled a strong work ethic in me, which continues to serve me well as I juggle my roles as a full-time mom and part-time writer.

 

I also love the close family ties so prevalent in most Asian cultures – when I hear non-Asian friends complain that they have no help with the kids, or no emotional support from their families, I am extra grateful for my family. I enjoyed an extremely close relationship with my maternal grandmother, who lived with us from the time I was a baby until she passed away three years ago, and now I’m watching my kids form close bonds with my mom. As much as I sometimes roll my eyes at her old-school admonishments (“Don’t go outside for a month after you have a baby!” or “You’re throwing away that tiny bit of leftover rice? How wasteful!”), I also know that she will always make me, my husband and our kids a priority, and that I’m never truly alone.

 

Then there are the simply cool aspects of being raised in a traditional Taiwanese family: I can speak three languages (English, Mandarin and Taiwanese), I know where to go for the best authentic Asian food, and I have an instant vacation spot (I have close relatives still in Taiwan, and my parents also own a home there). A year after we got married, my husband, in-laws and I took a trip to Taiwan, and I was proud to show them around and have them meet my extended family. I felt like I was showing them a new, deeper side of me.

 

Last year, around the Lunar New Year, I flew back with my then-18-month-old son, Jack. I was four months pregnant at the time and knew that I wouldn’t be able to make such a trip for a long time. We spent time at my parents’ home in Taipei, and Jack attended his first Chinese New Year’s Eve meal, a banquet of more than 20 dishes that lasted well past his bedtime. He met and bonded with my uncle and cousins, and he eagerly took in all the new sights, sounds and smells. My heart swelled as I saw Jack greedily eating the sweet guavas and wax apples that I’d loved as a child in Taiwan. My only regret from the trip is that he won’t be able to remember the great time that we had.

 

As my sons grow up, I want to give them the very best aspects of my culture. I want them to be fluent Mandarin speakers, to participate in traditional celebrations, to enjoy all sorts of Asian food, to always prioritize family, and to know that there is so much out in the world for them to experience if they go about life with open minds and hearts.

 

Oh, and those mean girls from third grade? Last I heard, they were still living with their parents in our old neighborhood. Thanks, Mom – you were right, as always.

 

Beverly O’Neal is a full-time mom to two sons – a two-year-old toddler and a seven-month-old baby – and a part-time writer living in Southern California. Prior to becoming a mom, Beverly worked as a benefits communication consultant in Chicago, New York and Los Angeles. She received her bachelor’s and master’s degrees in journalism from Northwestern University.

Beverly's parenting articles on the examiner.com can be found here or paste URL below.
URL: http://www.examiner.com/x-33464-South-Bay-Parenting-Examiner