I pack lunch like any other American kid, but I bring fried dumplings with pork and Chinese Chives instead of PB&J sandwiches. In my opinion, it’s so much better, but I guess the other ‘American’ kids don’t think the same way because they used to torment me for hours back in middle school.
I play sports like any other American kid, but I play by myself because my parents can’t afford private lessons. In my opinion, it’s better to learn on your own, but I guess the other American kids don’t think the same way because they used to laugh and tell me I’m a down-and-out.
I have parents that work like any other American, but they work day and night. In my opinion, it’s… awkward, I guess the other American kids think the same way because they would laugh at my parents’ worn car. I have parents that speak English, but they speak it with a heavy accent. In my opinion, it’s embarrassing. I guess the other American kids think the same way because they would mock their Chinese accents and the way they speak Chinese to me, ching chong bing bong.
I have Chinese parents that care for me like any other Chinese American kid, but I try to pretend they are not there, which is pretty easy considering they are never home, too busy with their Chinese restaurant. In my opinion, it’s so much better. I guess the other American kids think the same way because they like me better when I leave behind my parents and THEIR culture.
My parents’ friends were sending their kids to a local Chinese School, so they forced me to go as well. I went to one Chinese class and that was it: it reminded me too much of the days of bullying in middle school. After my parents drove me to the Chinese School, I would not go to any of the classes, but walk home and play video games. When they come back, I say that a classmate’s parent drove me home, and they would be so ridiculously happy that I made a friend in Chinese School.
My scheme went on for two months until one day my father came back early for whatever reason. He found out that I have been skipping Chinese School and scolded me like an old grandpa with his crazy accent. I looked back at my game and tuned him out. He stood in front of the TV, blocking it. When I finally got him to move away, the screen showed that I’ve lost. I was furious. Yelling at my father about how I was bullied in middle school because of them, I kicked a wooden plate wall decoration, smashing it into two. Upstairs I stormed, not caring about my father on his knees, staring blankly at the smashed screen.
The next morning, I didn’t feel like going to school so I slept in. I woke up with my mom next to my bed, she didn’t yell at me, instead she told me a story in her Chinese accent,
“You know the thing you smashed? It was a gift from your grandpa, which was given to
him by his grandfather. So that wooden plate wall decoration is about 100 years old. It is not just the gift but the meaning of the flowers in the painting. Do you know what kind of flowers they are?”
I rolled over and tried to tune her out.
She continued, and this was the gist of it:
In Chinese Culture, there are four flowers called “The Noble Four. ”Each symbolizes a quality one should strive to obtain. They are the plum blossom, proud; the orchid, quiet; bamboo, unwavering; the chrysanthemum, modesty. For the first-generation Chinese Immigrants, these four flowers and qualities are burnt into their minds. It is only because they have obtained these qualities-proud, quietness, unwavering, and modesty-are they come to America to give their children better opportunities and an environment to live in.
The first of the four nobles, the plum blossom, symbolizes pride. It blooms in early spring while snow still falls and wind still blows, while most all other flowers and plants are still hiding from the cold. Like the plum blossom, the Chinese Immigrants face the freezing winter cold of America as bitter winds chill their bones: discrimination, prejudice, racism, stereotypes, hate. and yet, they put on another coat, wrap themselves tighter, and bloom bigger and more vivid in the cold of their new country.
The second of the four, the orchid, symbolizing quietness and natural beauty, blooms in quiet valleys, secluded. There, the orchid grows quietly, never boasting nor flaunting, yet its fragrance and beauty are stunning. Like the orchid, the Chinese Immigrants live quietly, rarely causing trouble-for they knew if they did, all of what they’ve done would be for nothing- , and work diligently for the benefit of their future children. Someday, their hard work is seen and they climb the ladder, but they never forget where they began.
The third of the four, the bamboo, symbolizing firmness and unwavering determination, grows straight, and rather break than bend. Like the bamboo, the Chinese Immigrants stay determined under the constant mocking of their skin color, facial features, and the way theyspeak English or Chinese. Still, they neither bend nor break, they stand tall and straight and embrace their culture and heritage. If you start a fight with them, they will fight back, but they will never start a fight.
The last of the four, the chrysanthemum, symbolizes courage and modesty. Blooming in the fall, it doesn’t try to compete with other flowers, but when the temperature drops and all the summer flowers fade away, it takes the spotlight. Like the chrysanthemum, the Chinese Immigrants won’t bandwagon, but will stand up for themselves and each other during times of need.
Most of the Chinese Immigrants that came here from China obtained these qualities before coming to America or during the time they settled. However, most of the children of these first-generation Chinese Americans never heard of The Noble Four or their stories.
My mom sighed. I kept silent, with tears in my eyes.
She continued, “I won’t blame you. As a second-generation, you may feel ashamed and embarrassed. We are not rich, and Mom and Dad don’t have good jobs. We don’t speak English very well. You don’t feel proud of us. Most Chinese American kids, like you, choose not to speak Chinese with their families and choose not to learn the language. That is the beginning of our gap, the gap between the kids and their culture, their roots. What a pity! What a pity!”
I didn’t say anything when she left, but I remembered a quote from a book I read, “Like water, soft and harmless until enough time went by. Then all of a sudden you found yourself withthe Grand Canyon on your hands. ” I guess my mom was talking about the Grand Canyon between me and my heritage.
Suddenly, I realized that my mom’s story was about themselves, how they faced the same racism and prejudice I faced, but they pushed on for me, me, who was ungrateful and tried to push his parents out of his life.
That day is my turning point: I started to accept myself for whom I was and not change myself just for fitting in, I made new friends who accepted me for who I am, started Chinese School again, and tried to speak Chinese with my parents.
Every kid makes stupid mistakes until one day, someone or something becomes the trigger to provide them with a new way to think, a new door to open, and a whole new world to observe. If a second-generation Chinese American were given the chance to celebrate Americans of Chinese Descent History month, he/she would be honoring those who are embracing their heritage and culture while changing the world (like Bruce Lee, Awkwafina, and Amy Tan). This way, second-generation Chinese Americans like me will have someone to follow, someone to be their guide, someone they can look up to. They will be proud of their skin color, of their culture, of their heritage and not hide away their true selves.
By setting the Americans of Chinese Descent History Month in January, it would correlate with the Lunar New Year , one of the most important if not THE most important holiday celebrated in China, which usually falls in January. This would be a perfect opportunity for other embarrassed second-generation Chinese Americans to warm up to Chinese heritage by celebrating the most important holiday in the culture!
Today, I share with you the story of The Noble Four flowers like my mother shared it with me. Now it is up to you to decide whether all my other second-generation Chinese American peers will get the chance to hear it. Thank you.