It was in 1993 that comedian Jeff Foxworthy came out with his “You Might be a Redneck if…” jokes. Since then, many, many other folks have riffed off of these hilarious one-liners, customizing the humor to their own personal circumstances.
I’ve always wanted to do the same, but wasn’t sure if I could find an audience who could – and would – “get” my jokes. Perhaps here, among other 1.5G, I have finally found my “tribe” – my “peeps”!
I am the child of immigrant parents who left Mainland China in the late 1940s to escape the Communists and then made their way to Taiwan and then our family immigrated to the U.S. in the 1960s. According to sociologists, I am a “1.5-generation immigrant” – a term that is used to describe individuals who arrived here as children or adolescents. AND our demographic cohort is supposed to have a “split identity”.
According to these scholarly experts: “Depending on how old 1.5s are upon arrival, where they grow up, which ethnic group they belong to and a host of other factors, their American / immigrant identities vary greatly.”
Well, let me tell you, there is NO identity crisis for me. You KNOW you’re the child of an immigrant Chinese mother if…” Let me count the ways…:
1st: You know you’re the child of an immigrant Chinese mother if…you NEVER — and I emphasize NEVER– can one-up her or have the final word.
Growing up, before we got our driver’s licenses, my brothers and I would often be asked to walk to our neighborhood grocery store to get an item that Mom forgot on her shopping list.
As we kids whined about the heat, the distance, the effort, our Mother would put her hands on her hips, draw herself up to her full 4-feet, 11-inches and say: “If I can walk out of China on my own two feet as a refugee student, YOU can walk to the store for a loaf of bread!” Touché, Mom. Mother: 1; children: love. Game, set, match!
Another great zinger that my brothers NEVER could find a retort for was when they and their young friends got into trouble and their excuse was, “Well, [insert any name] made me do it.” You know you’re the child of a Chinese immigrant mother when she replies: “And, if X told you to jump in the lake, you’d do that?!”
2nd: You know you’re the child of an immigrant Chinese mother if…you had WEIRD-smelling food in your lunch box. You’d think you FINALLY fit in by having that “Charlie’s Angels” or “Lost in Space” or “The Fonz” metal lunch box, BUT, once you OPENED it, you were about as uncool as any nerdy character on some television show.
The odor of a half 滷蛋 (soy-braised hard-boiled egg) wafting out of your metal lunch box could not be masked; the distinctive “aroma” of the chives and pork 包 (steamed dumpling) could not be explained away. Oh, for a good ole peanut butter and jelly sandwich on Wonder Bread!
3rd and not least: You know you’re the child of an immigrant Chinese mother if…you wore homemade clothes into your high school years. I don’t think I owned a pair of store-bought jeans until at least freshman year of college!
Now, fast forward decades. In these intervening years, I’ve come to understand – and am very grateful for – the sacrifices made by our immigrant Chinese mothers who arrived in America in the 1960s. They often landed in communities where there were not many – or any! – other people of Chinese heritage.
As the homemaker wives of Chinese graduate students pursuing advanced degrees in America and then struggling academics, they did the best they could to raise a brood of young children on a limited income and with limited knowledge of English and American culture.
They stretched that one monthly paycheck as best they could. The home-cooked foods that they lovingly packed into our lunch boxes were tokens of their love. The new skirts and pants that they often spent all night sewing were the ways they expressed their selfless and unconditional devotion to us their children.
Now, many of us are mothers and fathers, and even grandmothers and grandfathers. So, you know you’re the child of an immigrant Chinese mother if you yell out to your kids or grandkids as they’re running out of the house: “Whaaaat!?! You’re going out the door in winter with wet hair!?!”