My dad is turning 60 today, and so I thought I’d take this momentous birthday to reminisce on some of the ways that my father expresses his love, and some of the things I’m continuously grateful for as his daughter.
As a kid, I don’t really remember seeing my dad a ton. Both him and my mom worked, either my paternal or maternal grandparents came over from China to watch my brother and I, and my mom was the one who shuttled us around to the various extracurriculars that we were enrolled in so the opportunities to see my dad were fewer and farther between.
The one exception to this was Chinese School. My brother, David, and I both went to Chinese School every Sunday and my dad was always the one who would take us. I hated it. I could never get my mind to focus to learn, and oftentimes we spent Saturday night at parties until late with other Chinese kids who, coincidentally, never seemed to be at Chinese School which I felt was very unfair.
Still, we went every week. And every week, I’d beg my dad for money so I could buy a snack and drink at the vending machines that were in the cafeteria of the school. He would begrudgingly pull out his wallet and hand over quarters or a dollar bill and I would stand in front of the vending machines like they were the greatest gift to humanity choosing between Hot Fries or Cheetos or cheddar and sour cream Ruffles. Some weeks I’d beg for extra money so I could get both a drink and a snack and my dad would look at me, after I had clearly interrupted whatever conversation was happening, ask if I really needed it (to which I obviously replied yes), and give me the money.
I always knew my dad was important to the school, because we stayed for hours past my classes so he could have meetings and I ran around the school like a hellion - climbing bleachers that were half retracted, figuring out how to get onto the roof, and playing with the other kids who also waiting for their parents to finish teaching or meetings - and yet I never once got scolded for refusing to just wait nicely. Each year, the Chinese School board would elect a principal. My dad was elected to the position twice, and was, and still is, largely respected within this Chinese School community despite both my brother and I having not been part of it for ~8 years.
To say that I learned nothing at all at Chinese School is, sadly, not an exaggeration. Most days I stared at the board not remembering anything, I didn’t do any homework I was assigned, I legitimately failed every vocabulary test, and sometimes I just straight up fell asleep. My teacher, who was actually my friend’s mom, did her best but I was stubborn and generally unashamed to have not done anything for it. Each year, I kept moving on to the next level, likely because they didn’t want to embarrass me. I got 0% better skill-wise, and actually got quite a bit worse personality-wise. My parents decided instead of Chinese, which clearly I did not know, they would put me into the SAT prep classes that Chinese School offered. I was no better in those. I was highly argumentative, and I did not enjoy being in more classes on a weekend. And I know for a fact that my teachers brought these up to my dad.
All of this was in contrast to my brother, David, who learned Chinese, took the Chinese SAT II, did SAT prep, and was generally regarded as a good kid. He spent his time after class not running around like it was the last slice of freedom he’d ever get. But my dad never compared us, never spoke of his disappointment that I was essentially disregarding my culture or refusing to prepare for my future, and never once brought up how my actions reflected poorly on him, how it was embarrassing to be so highly regarded in this community and yet have a daughter who clearly did not care even a bit about the work him and others had put in. He never once mentioned it. Not once in our car rides there or back did he scold me. He let me steep in my angst, headphones in, ignoring him and the world.
He let me miss his 50th birthday party because I wanted to go to my sophomore homecoming - it wasn’t even my first, it wasn’t my last - but with no guilt-trip and with no argument, I was allowed to go. My brother drove home 6 hours to celebrate with him and I refused to miss one of the six school dances I would ultimately attend to spend the evening with him.
As I got older, every so often he would take a weekend meal and take me out to eat. My mom had become a vegetarian at this point, and so we’d take this opportunity to go out and get steak, or seafood, or some random chain restaurant that my mom hates going to. We never really chatted about anything massively important, but it was always nice to just be able to spend some time with him. Since he was gone basically 12 hours a day on weekdays, weeknights I’d be holed up in my room studying or watching TV, Saturdays I was at choir or with my friends, and Sundays he was at Chinese School for the entire day, it was nice to get to spend some real time with him.
I never really thought about why it was that I never saw him. I knew, objectively, that he worked hard to provide for us all the opportunities and security that we needed to grow up, but it wasn’t until later that I truly appreciated how much time he spent doing so. To this day, he still works the same amount, sometimes not getting home until midnight with an 8AM start time. But it’s not just for our family that he puts in a herculean effort - he spends countless hours working to make Chinese School successful. While I hated going, I understand now its value in creating a space where you could connect with members of your community, ensure your kids know more about their heritage, and exists as a place where, if no where else, you could see and spend time with people in a way that doesn’t make you feel like you stick out, or that you have to live up to the preconceived notions that surround you.
While we differ in many ways, I’ll always appreciate how my dad understood when to push and when to leave alone. He always made sure that we knew that if we needed him that he would be there for us, that we understood how hard work begets progress, and that he allowed us to grow as individuals. So, thank you dad, for giving me the space to grow and for letting me make my own decisions and mistakes. Happy birthday, I love you.
Teotihuacán, Dec 2019