NYC-Feature Story

Chinese Parents, American Me
When Worlds Collide

By Ngan-Fong Huant

About a year ago, I went to the Village and bought a pair of blue, baggy jeans and a long shirt that I buttoned only at the top. When my mom saw my new outfit, she shouted, "Look at your jeans! They're too wide and too long for you."

I just stared at her, shocked by her reaction.

"They're sagging from your waist and scraping on the ground," she continued. "What are you trying to be? Like those gangsters whose jeans hang so low that they nearly fall to the ground?"

About a week later I tried the jeans on again and noticed that they seemed a lot shorter. I immediately looked at the hemline and saw strands of blue thread sticking out. I realized that my mom had secretly snuck into my room, searched my closet for the jeans, cut a few inches off the bottoms, and then sewed them back up.

How Dare You!

I was furious. I stormed into her room and asked, "Why did you cut off the bottoms of my jeans? They were mine! How could you do this without asking me?"

"I told you they were too long," was all she said.

"Now I'll never wear these jeans again!" I yelled. "I'll get new ones."

You can call me the typical American-born Chinese (ABC). Like most immigrants, my parents came here for a better future-for them and for my sisters and me. But I often feel torn between the ways of my parents and those of the society in which I grew up. On one hand, I want to be accepted by my friends as an American. On the other hand, my parents want me to maintain our traditions. Not knowing what to do, I try to find a middle ground.

When I was little, I was comfortable thinking of myself only as Chinese. I had always been sheltered by my family and had not had much contact with other cultures. It was only in kindergarten that I began opening my eyes to all the different people around me.

The Only Asian on the Block

Because there were no other Chinese families in the neighborhood, all my friends were either Hispanic or African-American. They could not speak Chinese, did not know what the Moon Festival was, or even about the days when we honor our deceased ancestors. I felt very lonely being the only Asian.

I wanted to be accepted. I wanted to be just like my friends. So I did the only logical thing I could do-I too began to idolize Bugs Bunny and Big Bird. I played with the same kinds of Barbie dolls, and even played yard games like tag and hopscotch just like they did. And my friends finally began to accept me.

But no matter how I tried to fit in, I always knew I was different from them. I was not a true American. My straight, dark brown hair and almond-shaped eyes looked different from my friends' light, curly hair and large, round eyes. My eyelashes didn't curl up the way theirs did either.

That December, one of my friends asked me, "What presents are you getting from Santa this year?"

Santa Who?

I was confused. Earlier that year I had learned about a jolly, white-bearded Santa who flew into the air with reindeer, stuffing presents into the socks of sleeping children on the night of Christmas Eve. My parents had never mentioned him to me before. As far as I knew, Chinese New Year was the most festive occasion of the year, not Christmas. I didn't know how to respond but finally answered, "No, we don't celebrate Christmas."

My friend looked at me shocked, as if I was the most deprived child in the world.

Growing up, television sitcoms like Full House and Leave It to Beaver made me feel even more like I was not a real American. By the time I was 8 years old, I could already see how the children in the television shows had such open relationships with their parents. They could ask them for advice about anything-school, even about boyfriends. The teenagers were free to stay out late, could dress however they wanted, and were not pressured to get good grades. Best of all, the family members always hugged and forgave each other.

Torn Between Two Traditions

That was not how my family was. There were no hugs or any signs of affection at all. For us it was just supposed to be inferred. And even now, at the age of 17, I would never even think about talking to either of my parents about dating because I know they do not approve of it at this age. Life in my family is more about school and grades, not relationships. My parents also think that girls should dress conservatively-no miniskirts, tank tops, or other clothing that shows more skin than just the arms, face and legs below the knees.

Often I feel very confused because I cannot decide whether to go on obeying my parents or do what I feel is right for me. To deal with this problem, I have tried to make my parents see that I am mature enough to control my own life. They may be upset and nag me for coming home later than 7 p.m., for example. But I try to convince them that it's OK because I was at the library or doing something else important. And I know that eventually they will get used to the idea.

I am not the first one in my family to face difficulties trying to open up their traditional thinking. My older sisters were the first rebels who fought to Americanize my parents' ways. While fighting for their own rights they also paved the way for the privileges I have now, such as staying out until 8 p.m. and being allowed to go out with friends.

My Sisters' Secret Boyfriends

My older sisters have taught me a great deal about what my parents expect of me-particularly concerning boys. Although my sisters always understood the value of education, they could not resist having secret boyfriends.

My eldest sister, Jane, had her first boyfriend when she was only 16-not only that, but he was Vietnamese. When my parents found out, the house became a war zone. They resented the idea of a boyfriend, especially one that was not Chinese. Every night the living room was filled with loud arguments in Chinese and never-ending cries. "Stop controlling my life," my sister would scream. "It's not for you to decide."

"If you are under my roof, you'd better listen to me," my parents would yell back. "You shouldn't be distracted from school by boys."

"Fine, I'll move out of the house," my sister said.

My parents had nothing more to threaten her with, except, "You'll never come back under this roof if you're so disobedient. We're not paying for your college tuition."

Focusing On Education

And Jane did move out with luggage left and right, not caring either about school or about her college education. Eventually, Jane broke away from her Vietnamese boyfriend and made up with my parents, but she never did go to college and now works as a beautician.

Jane's experience established the idea that my other sister and I could not have close relationships with guys outside our race. My parents try to divert our attention away from guys by emphasizing the importance of education. It is the goal of many Chinese parents to have children who are highly educated and prominent in society. My parents think that if only my second sister, now a business major, had not also engaged in relationships in high school, she would have entered what they consider a more prominent profession like law or medicine.

They have accepted my interest in science and medicine and want me to be a doctor. Luckily, that's my goal as well, so I probably won't cause family disturbance in that area. If I decide to pursue other areas like interior decorating or broadcast journalism, however, I am sure my parents would object.

'My Friends Can Do Whatever They Want'

Meanwhile, my parents urge us all to retain the customs, language, and beliefs of our culture. Last Halloween when I came home from school with neon pink hair, my mom was outraged. "You're looking like one of those gangsters," she said.

"But it's temporary," I told her. "It'll wash off easily in water."

"You'd better not put anything else in your hair again," was all she said after she finished personally washing the dye out of my hair. To my mother, and probably for many other traditional parents too, hair color should be natural-in the case of the Chinese, dark brown or black.

I was furious at how closed-minded my mom was. "Ma," I said, "my friends could do whatever they want to their hair and their parents don't mind."

She glared at me and said, "I don't care what those parents think. Just don't be like them."

As much as I would like to dye my hair, stay out late, not worry about school, and have boyfriends the way my American friends do, I understand that there are valid reasons to follow many aspects of the Chinese culture.

Learning To Respect Their Point Of View

While the more American side of me becomes angry at the thought of only being allowed to marry another Chinese person, my Chinese side is learning to respect this restriction.

In the past I might have thought that my parents were only trying to be cruel, but I now understand their reasons. Since they only speak minimal English, in order to have a healthy relationship with their sons- or daughters-in-law, it is logical that they should be able to communicate with them. More importantly, our Chinese culture is already being lost in the United States. Prohibiting interracial marriage is their attempt to hold on to our language and tradition.

Having It Both Ways

These days, I accept myself as a Chinese-American, meaning that I follow ways of both cultures. In some ways I am more American, like in the way I dress. And I am the one who chooses who my friends are-whether my parents approve or not. After all, I am 17 and capable of leading my own life. Then in other areas I still accept some of the more traditional ways, such as not marrying outside my race.

Slowly, my parents and I are making progress in compromising with each other. A week after my mom cut those baggy jeans, for instance, I went out and bought another pair. This time, however, they were a little shorter; my parents did not complain about it, and I did not mind the jeans the way they were. My parents can regulate my life to an extent for now, but ultimately I know I will be the one to decide.