Chinese parents have stomachs of iron. Literally; their stomach lining is cold hard metal. Rivets line their intestines. There is very little they cannot digest; I kid you not. Want me to prove it?
Well, pull up a chair and let me tell you a story. 'Tis a true story, a story from my youth.
"Michael, come with me," commanded my father. I blinked, got up from my homework, and followed him. We walked into the family TV room.
"Sit down."
I sat down.
Here's how it went down. Eric (8 yrs old) and Robbie (7 yrs old), from the groom's side, were the ring bearers. Rachel (4 yrs old) and her little sister (2 yrs old), from the bride's side, were the flower girls.
The two sets of kids didn't mingle much in the beginning. And of course they didn't. At that age, girls and boys have cooties.
So Mom, here's how it went down.
I met her at Golden Gate Park one weekend. I was just chilling near the Conservatory of Flowers, reading a book. She came over and sat down next to me. I looked up and smiled at her; she smiled back.
Santa is real. Oh, sure he is.
He's the one who eats all of the cookies and milk. He's the one who put those all those presents under the tree. Who else could do it?
The proof is in my childhood. I never told my parents what I wanted. My Mom would ask me, "What did you ask Santa for this year?"
I'd tell her, "I told him to get me Megatron or Optimus Prime!"
The BOOM of the impact must have been deafening. Yim, my cousin's wife, ran out of the World Trade Center lobby and into the courtyard. The shock waves shook the entire building and debris fell to the earth.
She looked up and glass fell into her face. Several shards cut her cornea. She covered her face and ran from the building.
I'm staring at my dad's raised middle finger right now.
Well, not the one on his hand. He gave me this wooden sculpture of a fist with a raised middle finger when I went off for college. Said he had it during his college years, so I might as well have it too.
My family's first family heirloom!
I could only smile apologetically at my grandma as she asked me a question. She grinned in return as she shook her head and tried to come up with the words in English.
Sadly, my Cantonese is shameful. I'm the typical Chinese American born in a predominantly Caucasian town. That means I speak almost zero Chinese.
"Hello?"
"Hi Mike, it's Dad."
"Oh, hi! How are you doing?"
"I'm okay. I just got back home. My office shut early. I'm lucky, I was working in the Long Island City branch today. But I saw the whole thing."
I am now the owner of my very first car: a brand-spanking new 2000 Ford Mustang Convertible baby!
I'll admit, I've never been a true car enthusiast. I know that to some people, my V6 automatic is a sacrilege to the Mustang name and Sports Car genre. I know they see me as a Yuppie Wanna-be-Badass.
So to all of them, I flip the bird.
Weekly random rambles, musings & writings of Mike Lee in San Francisco, CA