Chinese new year just passed and it is usually a bittersweet affair. On one hand, the occasion traditionally creates an extra monitary boost in the form of small red envelops, but on the other hand the evening of new year’s day comes to a close with a long distance phone call to my grandparents in Hong Kong.
Something changed this year, I found. As I was sitting in the kitchen, I distinctly remembered cringing as I caught my mom reaching for the telephone out of the corner of my eye. I would have to break out my broken chinese, laced with a 22 year old english accent, the train to embarrassment was well on its way and I was strapped to the front.
I watched as my mom spoke with my grandma, giving the usual new year sayings, wishing her well and vice-versa. And then it was my turn. You would think that for an occasion I dreaded so much, I would try to practice the other 364 days a year to save myself from the shame. I bit my lip and let the chinese words fly.
And then a strange thing happened, my mom was laughing, my dad was laughing and my grandma on the other end was laughing as well. Were they laughing at me? Grandma, who cackled in a high-pitch stutter portrayed no condescending tone and she sounded genuinely happy. All I had to do was tell her that I would go to Hong Kong to treat her to dim sum in horrible horrible broken chinese. The conversation lasted for a minute at most before I retreated to the bathroom.
It wasn’t until later in the night that my mom revealed something that will likely stick with me for a while: that it is my Grandma’s dream to have a grandchild graduate from university and treat her to a meal. I am poised to be the first. It brings a brand new perspective on family, tradition and respect.