My Christmas Birthday

Happy Christmas Birthday to Me!

My dad decided on my name in his typical, logical way. He researched it and Natalie means "Christmas baby." That afternoon, my mom went into labor and had to drive herself and my non-English speaking grandma to fetch my dad at the park. He was playing football and jumped in the car covered in mud. I was born that night at 10pm. Since everyone predicted that I was going to be a boy, my Chinese name includes the character "brother."

Being a Christmas baby has always provoked interesting reactions. Most fall into one of two camps--those who think it was great and those who think it would suck. I always thought it was great because my family would overcompensate when I was a kid. I guess they felt bad since I got 1 for 2-fer gifts and it was the easiest birthday to remember--and to forget.

I never thought it was a drawback. I, actually, would receive the biggest pile of gifts and get a birthday cake. So, I didn't really miss having friends over for a party. It was always a family affair and that was fine. Of course now, as an enlightened, progressive, non-materialistic, eco-friendly, solstice-celebrating adult who eschews the over-commercialization of the season, gifts aren't that important (unless it came from the Patagonia or REI store...) :)

After the divorce and the growth of extended families, it's been hard to get everyone together. Those were tough milestones at first--shuttling between parents, sisters moving out of town and out of country, the first Christmas away from Atlanta. But Christmas was a special holiday, not because we were Christians, but because it was my birthday and I always came home for my birthday.

Now, for the first time in 15 years, I was home for Christmas to celebrate a milestone birthday, not as a visitor, but as a resident. Ironically, it felt like a non-event. Both my sisters and my dad would not be here and my mom and I were not sure how we would spend Christmas until yesterday. I couldn't help but feel sorry for myself, even though I knew I was one of the luckiest people on the planet. Where was my family on Christmas? I couldn’t just call a friend to go out, everything was closed. What was going on?

Let's see, last week I celebrated the Winter Solstice with 30 new friends. Tonight, I added an uncle, aunt, four cousins and 4 "new" nieces and nephews. On Christmas Day, my mom’s best friend will be hosting a dinner for us. The next day, we will visit with another aunt, uncle, cousin and 2 new nieces, all of whom I haven't seen in over a decade. In addition to the local events, we were welcomed to join several out of town celebrations.

The usual suspects weren’t here, but my circle of family and friends was growing. Yes, this year my Christmas Birthday will be different. In years past, my family celebrated me and my homecoming. Now that I live in Atlanta, the best reason to celebrate was local! The birthday wish had been granted and now it was time to re-connect and create a new circle.

My Dad, Johnny Cash and Whoppers

My father was one of the first Chinese graduates from Georgia Tech and lived in Little Five Points in the early '60's. I realized later why he looked so alarmed when I first informed him about renting a studio there. His recollection of the neighborhood was still as a shooting gallery and gang base. He recalls how all the Asian students "could fit in one classroom" at Georgia Tech and how he ate chili dogs at the Varsity a lot, not because it was trendy, but because "it was all I could afford!" My dad is very proud of the fact that he has been successfully self-employed for his entire career and as he puts it, "never received a paycheck from anyone." Even though I received scholarships and did work-study, his talent and success as an engineering consultant, entrepreneur and businessman supported me through school and the early years of my career. For this, I will be forever grateful.

Now he is creating another chapter as a retired engineer and monk-in-training.

My father is the last person you would think of to take up yoga, let alone to become a yoga advocate! He never liked sitting cross-legged on the ground due to his inflexibility. Trained as a researcher and engineer, he lived and swore by proven methods, scientific reasoning and logic over any emotional healing or holistic “mumbo jumbo.” After suffering a debilitating injury that left him in a wheelchair, he ;earned a form of transformational self-healing and recently played competitively in the ALTA tennis league at age 71!

Do We All Look Alike?

Most of us are familiar with the stereotype that “Asians all looked alike” but in a sea of whiteness, I stuck out like a foreign exchange student! I distinctly remember being called to the principal’s office when I was in 3rd grade to help translate for a visiting student. The only problem was, she was Japanese and I was Chinese!

Then there was Nina. A Chinese student who joined my elementary class briefly, for less than a year. You would think that I we would have bonded and formed an Asian alliance of two. Yet, oddly and sadly, I felt uncomfortable and distanced myself as far as possible from Nina. Ironically, I had tried so hard to fit in as an “American” that her presence reminded me of my real identity and the part of me that I wanted (and others) to forget.

My Mother: Country Asian Cooking & Teacher of the Year

My mother was born in Hunan, China, grew up in Taiwan, and immigrated to the U.S. in the early 1960’s, first to Houston (“where I have a Jewish mother”), then to Atlanta where my dad was studying at Georgia Tech.

As a fourth and fifth-grade then a gifted program teacher, she was beloved by her students. She was a creative sparkplug in the classroom, incorporating multidisciplinary or complex subjects like aviation, bridge-building, world trade and/or Chinese literature when other teachers stayed with more traditional topics, and even more popular on the playground, as she taught (and played) sports like Chinese dodgeball and Double Dutch jump-roping. More than once, she was selected Teacher of the Year. Reflecting wistfully,"Under today's bureaucracy and policies, I probably couldn't teach or do half of the things I did, for fear of liability or parental complaints."

My mom invented fast food Chinese long before Panda Express ever came along. She told friends, “I worked full-time as a school teacher, had three kids, and they didn’t sell tofu or soy sauce at the local Winn-Dixie grocery store back then. Who had time to make dumplings for dinner!” She also preferred a cast iron skillet to a wok. After 40 years, she still uses the same skillet which is a permanent fixture on the stove. "Woks are wobbly and didn't work well on the electric stoves popular back then."

My favorite dishes included: “Pepper Steak n' Fries," Scrambled Eggs & Grits w/Preserved Radish," “Five Spice Rutabaga" and “Hot Hunan Catfish.” Instead of soda, we drank honey water and made honey popsicles. Baked items, like bread or pastries were virtually nonexistent. Fruit was dessert. Kind of like Atkins pre-Atkins. According to my mom, she was "not really a great cook, but fast." And she cooks fast "because I'm hungry and recipes make me dizzy!" But don't ask her to bake. "I prefer to cook a 5-course meal than make a cake!"

At the urging of her friends (and frequent dinner guests), my mom taught the first community school Chinese cooking class in the area. Even though I was only ten, I helped her and we did it together. The hardest part was creating the recipes since there were none. I sat perched on a stool beside her and the blazing cast-iron skillet with ingredients flying, trying to scribble “pinch of this, pinch of that” on an index card while my mom created. After teaching school for 15 years (and a divorce, unheard of for a Chinese couple at the time), she made a mid-life career change and became a successful self-employed businesswoman.

We are now preparing to teach an Asian market and food class at Emory University (March, 2009) called "Eggrolls n' Sweet Tea" Check out the course listing: http://cll.emory.edu/eate/classes.cfm?cla=-137736890&pt=3

Only Asian Kid in School

I am proud to be Asian today and the beneficiary of modern positive stereotypes, but for the first 20 years of my life, I did everything I could to avoid being called a "chink." I wanted so much to fit in, to be "all-American," to be blond and buxom. To no one’s surprise except mine, it didn’t work. In contrast to the popularity of Asian fashion, food and culture today, in the homogeneity of 1970 Smyrna, kids and teenagers were relentless and made fun of anything and anyone who was different. So even though I spoke with a strong Southern drawl, loved chicken pot pies and read Reader's Digest and Judy Blume books, I was still a "foreigner."

How did I try to fit in? I wore blush to liven up my hopelessly pale cheeks and desperately curled and permed my flat, straight-as-an-arrow hair to get a wiggle of body. [Later, can you believe girls would PAY to have their hair straightened!] I wore a padded bra even though I didn’t need one. I avoided speaking Chinese in public. Still, our mere appearance in stores and on the street elicited racial jeers and the assumption of being a foreigner.

The ugly stuff – name calling, taunting, mostly from strangers—traumatized me, from pre-school to high school. I never understood the “kids will be kids” justification. I still cringe when a school bus full of kids or a carload of joyriding teenagers drive by.

As the only Asian kid in school, everyone thought I was “good at math" and "cute like a chinadoll.” Actually, I loved Language Arts and Social Studies and had a penchant for competitive sports. I had a circle of smart girlfriends and a few guy friends, either geeks or jock pony-tail pullers. One advantage to not belonging to any circle was that I had a diverse range of friends. I was turned down by a sophomore to the junior prom. (I went anyway with my brother in-law's younger brother, a studly, 25 year-old Latino from Venezuela!)

But no boyfriends. I never got asked out on a date or had a kiss before college! My fantasy was to have someone "have a crush on me" or "to go (steady) with a boy." (When I told my mom the latter, she asked, "Go where?") For better or worse, I had to wait.

The Family Restaurant: Eggrolls n' Sweet Tea

I started working at my dad’s Chinese restaurant, Eggrolls By Keng, and jade store, Jade By Keng, in 1976 when I was 8 years old. Even though I barely stood over the counter, my mother said I had a knack for marketing and customer service. Next door was a Mexican jewelry store with beautiful silver buckles and turquoise earrings. We played with their kids and my mom ended up becoming best friends with Veronica and John. Ahead of the trend, both stores ended up closing after several years.

Eggrolls By Keng was the first Chinese restaurant in a mall (pre-Food Court era) and the only one with a steam table! My dad really was before his time and his business model, reputation and success are heralded by Chinese business owners in Atlanta even today. Unlike many other immigrants who went into the food business full-time, my dad already had his own career as an engineering consultant. He opened the restaurant and jewelry store so that my relatives could come over to the U.S. and have work.

Like the restaurant’s name, we served fresh, handmade eggrolls and my dad’s own sweet tea recipe. Before we opened, other restaurants served eggrolls that were mass-produced and frozen with stringy cabbage and colored meat bits —ugh! People hiked across the mall for our sweet tea and eggrolls! Even my dad, who preferred BK Whoppers, enjoyed eating our fresh eggrolls.

My aunt made our eggrolls by hand and with fresh ingredients. I was only eight so I got drinks and took money. I was queen of the Coke machine and stood on a beer box to reach the cash register. Some customers would see me and hesitate. After a while, regular customers got to know me and would even tip me! I also helped in the kitchen, making ground beef for the eggrolls in an industrial meat grinder and de-leafing the celery. My sisters worked there after school. To this day, my sister says she can’t eat snow peas because of the “trauma” of “shucking 50 lbs of snow peas” for hours. My mom taught school and came out on the weekends. I missed some football games on Saturday nights, but most of the time, it was interesting and I got paid.

As I got older, I realized how hard the restaurant business was. The hours were long and the work was not glamorous. Even though I worked more than most of my friends, my parents and sisters put in double shifts in the early years. And we had servers and cooks who worked every day. It took a toll on our family life and on my parent’s marriage. At the same time, it taught me the value of work and our sacrifices and it’s success laid the foundation for our college tuitions and eventually, a suburban, middle class life.

From Buddha to Bubba

As one of the few Asian families in Smyrna, Georgia, my sisters and I learned quickly about the meaning of being Chinese-American, about “being different." When we were young, my parents penalized us a dime for every English word spoken in the house. It was their desperate attempt (against the odds) to help us speak Chinese and to maintain some connection to Chinese culture against the backdrop of our American-styled lives, which included high school pep rallies, Waffle House and pinball games.

My father listened to Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson and preferred hamburgers to Chinese food. My mother ate more often with a fork than with chopsticks. Amazingly, we seemed to find a balance between the two worlds of eggrolls and sweet tea. Despite our protestations, the Chinese-only language policy held firm.

Fortunately for me, their efforts were successful. Being able to speak Chinese meant more than being bilingual; it opened the door not only to learning about my own heritage, despite never having lived in China, but also the opportunity to share my “other half” to friends and colleagues.

Mall Kid and Arcade Whiz

I started working at my father’s Chinese restaurant, Eggrolls By Keng, when I was 8 years old. I was queen of the Coke machine, stood on a beer box to reach the cash register, and made ground beef for the eggrolls in an industrial meat grinder. Some may call it child labor, but I thought it was fun.

On breaks, my dad gave me quarters to play at the arcade. Later, my friends would marvel at my prowess of playing Foosball, Air Hockey and Whac-a-Mole. I knew all the business owners and had favorite mall amusements – like playing with the calculators, wandering the bookstore, eating nut samples or sniffing the cigar and tobacco room.

Occasionally, there were special events. My mom entered me in the Little Miss Cumberland Mall pageant when I was 6. The announcer said, “Natalie likes gymnastics, has a dog named Plunkie and wants to be a surgeon.” I didn’t win but I got to keep the new dress! One night, I stood on one leg for 6 hours to win a year’s supply of Bubble Yum, sponsored by the Guinness Book of World Records. I didn’t set a record, but I won the bubble gum!

Surprisingly, I also had the opportunity to learn ice skating in Georgia! I loved to skate, but hated the snobbery and ostracization. I didn't have the right clothes or skates. I was the last in my group to graduate from rental skates even though I was one of the best skaters. "Real skates" were extremely expensive. I earned my way up from Sears skates to a used pair to finally, my own pro skates. I would arrive at the mall, still wearing my skates (with guards over the blades) and show off my balancing skill and skates!

In the Heart, A Brother

As a true “Chinese Southern Belle,” I was born a first-generation Chinese-American in Atlanta, Georgia and grew up in what was then, the small town of Smyrna, “Jonquil City.” My parents immigrated to the U.S. in 1961 on academic scholarships to graduate school. Since I was the third and youngest daughter, everyone predicted, by hunch or by hope, that I would be a boy, since my mom already had two girls. According to Chinese tradition of favoring male children, conventional relatives would give their condolences at the news of a baby girl, and congratulations at the news of a baby boy. Legend has it that many a wife or concubine was doomed to suffer from a lifetime of guilt and poverty or even death for not delivering a son.

Fortunately for me, my father adored me. As my mother often pointed out, “he spoiled you from the moment you were born!” Even my name is symbolic and auspicious: “ti” means humanitarian and is composed of the characters for “heart” and “brother.” Chinese people take their names very seriously as an embodiment of the person’s character and family reputation.

Whether it was because we had no brothers or the fact that we lived in the Deep South, my dad took us fishing (“you can bait your own hooks or sit there”), camping, shooting, motorcycling, and hunting. I owned a Daisy BB-gun rifle and later shot a Kit 22 and a 44-Magnum. I don’t remember many pink things in my room. My mother held her own as the avid fisherperson and Chinese dodgeball viper in the family.

Chinese Southern Belle - Intro

I started documenting, writing and sharing my Chinese family’s history and journey, in China, Taiwan and the Deep South with the hope that it would add an entertaining and enriching cross-cultural dimension to the tapestry of Atlanta’s history. It was a journey marked by a constant juxtaposition of cultures and customs, from egg rolls and Big Macs to Taoism and Dow Jones.

Asian American culture has come a long way since my parents landed in Houston, Texas then Atlanta, Georgia in the early 1960's. We were the only Asian family in the neighborhood and tofu and soy sauce were unheard of in the local grocery stores. Now, of course, Asian food and culture, in all its diversity, is accessible and very popular. Many of my friends have traveled to China and now teach me about the nuances of taichi, karate or Indian yoga. The cooking class my mother taught in 1988 stretched culinary boundaries with Hot and Sour Soup. In 2009, our new course will cover sushi, bibimbap, pad thai and a tour of an Asian market the size of Wal-Mart.

While the motivation was personal, I also hope that these stories will help create a stronger, shared sense of community across our differences and similarities through an appreciation and remembrance of one family's immigrant experience. Perhaps, we will find insight and inspiration in the commonality of the American experience.

May we all enjoy more cross-cultural friendships, potlucks and eggrolls n’ sweet tea!

Happy Winter Soulstice!