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.