there are two main fathers in my life: my own and my husband to our kids.
i’m sure many asian kids experienced this growing up but my dad was not affectionate or communicative. he was very stern and a man of few words but i can’t blame him since he was raised the same way; that’s all he knew. he is the middle child of 5 – an older brother and sister, and 2 younger brothers. it’s funny … until i was older, i thought my dad was the very scary short-tempered crazy one but when my uncles and aunt came to america, they told me he was actually the softie of the bunch and was my grandfather’s favorite for mainly this very reason.
everything my mom told me when when i was younger – no matter how naggy and annoying and repetitive and antiquated it sounded at the time – came true, damnit.
- “don’t tan your face, you look like a refugee” – i slathered baby oil on my face and body, laid out in the 100+ degree san fernando valley sun and now my face is paying for it with my lovely sunspots and wrinkles.
- “why do you want to grow up so fast? being young is the best” – ahhh to go back and relive my youth dressed in zcav’s, flojos, baby t’s, silver cross leather necklaces, toni home perms, 6″ aquanetted bangs.
- “you cause me so much heartache, i hope you have a daughter just like yourself one day” – please please please do not let this come true. Continue reading