A Fung Thanksgiving

This is the first Thanksgiving that I will not be spending with my family. As I prepare to host my own dinner with friends, I think about the evolution of the Thanksgiving feast in the Fung clan. When I was little, we primarily had Chinese food. Because nobody liked turkey or knew how to cook it, we had roast duck instead. Instead of potatoes, my mom would make her sticky rice dish, not unlike the kind you get at dim sum, with sausage, chicken, mushrooms, shrimp, and scallops. Veggies would be the usual bok choy or similar leafy green. Or, we would do the Chinese New Year veggie plate, with cabbage, mushroom, and glass noodles. Yams would be dessert, but cooked in a sweet broth.

As my cousins and I grew a bit older, we wanted to emulate the meals we learned about at school and on television. Some of the Chinese dishes remained, but we introduced turkey into the meal. I recall the first few were dry. There may have been attempts to season it with soy sauce. It didn't occur to us that cranberry sauce could be made from scratch, so we always got the canned stuff (which to this day I still have a soft spot for). We made green bean casserole with cream of mushroom soup and onion crisps on top. My Caucasian friends have affectionately told me that we celebrated a hybrid Chinese and "white trash" Thanksgiving.

Now that my cousins and I are the adults who plan the meals, our Thanksgivings do primarily consist of white people food, but done much better. It helps that one of my cousins is a graduate of culinary school. Last year, we spent Thanksgiving in Texas with one branch of the family who likes to deep fry their turkey. This blew our minds, as it may have been the first time we actually liked eating the turkey. Somehow, this led to us doing an entirely southern style Thanksgiving, with collard greens, corn bread, and mac-n-cheese. I wonder what the gang has planned this year.

One thing that has always remained constant regardless of how we've changed the Thanksgiving meal is my mom's sticky rice.  That has become our tradition. So this year, I'm attempting to make it on my own for the first time. My mom was very encouraging and talked me through the steps over the phone. Though in her usual fashion, she had to say, "But don't serve it to your friends if you mess it up."

Mouse Mom Democracy

Papa Fung wrote me and my brother an email with the subject heading: "Mom has guts": 



Mom and I happened to pick up the phone at the same time.

Campaigner: " We're Republican.......Can I talk to C----, please?"
Mom, "I'm C----."
Campaigner: "The economy is so bad .......Romney.....Would you care to help out?"
Mom: "I'm voting for Obama!!"
Campaigner: "I'm sorry to hear that. Have a nice evening!"

I rushed into the room and gave her a thumbs up! The first time I saw her so forceful to say no. You know what she said? 

"Do I dare to vote for Romney? Last time the kids scolded me for voting Bush." I call this mouse mom democracy. 

So I guess the thumbs up belongs to you guys. Anyway, you should congratulate her next time you talk.

Dad

Occupy Marital Conflict

Like any married couple, Mama and Papa Fung experience tensions in their marital dynamic, much of which have been aggravated by recent financial stress. My dad, being the patriarch, has a tendency to be immediately contradictory whenever anyone suggests him to do anything. I've learned to handle it by ignoring him and then letting him come around to my ideas eventually. My mom, however, the (over)sensitive person that she is, has a harder time. So with my being at home, mom will use me as an intermediary. Yesterday, she asked me to help her translate something, which dad would actually be more equipped to do, given that he actually reads Chinese. While she was out running some errands, dad and I had a talk:

Me: Dad, can you translate this thing for mom? But we don't have to tell her that you did it. She wanted me to help her, so I can say that I just used Google Translate or something.

Dad: What? Why do we have to go through that conspiracy? I tell her I can help her but she just ignores me.

Me: She feels that you just dismiss anything she has to say, so she asks me for help now. And to tell you the truth, I don't blame her. She's reacting to more than 30 years of feeling as though you don't respect her.

Dad: So for 30 years she just feels oppressed? Like in Egypt?

Me: Hahaha, I guess so.

Dad: Then that makes me Mubarak! And this is her revolution!

Me: Um, if you want to use that analogy.

Dad: Hahaha... Okay. I understand now.


END.

Who's the Pimp?

Once again, I'm spending a large chunk of my summer at Mama and Papa Fung's house. As is the case with too many American families lately, we're struggling with money matters. I'm glad that in spite of all our anxieties over finances, we can still maintain some sense of humor.

Case in point: Over breakfast a couple of days ago, my mom talked about the buzz over the rumors that China's most famous actress, Zhang Ziyi, accepted $1 million to sleep with Bo Xilai, the former Communist Party chairman. This is the conversation that ensued.

Me: One million dollars? Why would she need to do that? She's rich and famous on her own.

Mom: Well, people are saying that she's been having sex for money for a long time. That's how she built her career. 

Me: I don't think that's fair. It's assuming that no rich and famous woman could have made it without whoring herself. Besides, what would she have to gain by sleeping with this guy?

Dad: Well, you never know what the politburo controls. You never know what you have to do to get your movie released. Especially in China.

Me: Is the dude ugly? I mean, if she was gonna sleep with him for money, I hope he isn't ugly. 

Mom: He's not bad, actually.

Dad: And he's very well spoken. 

(pause)

Me: Shit, one million dollars for one night of work? And the dude's not ugly? I might consider doing it!

Dad: Hahaha... Wow, money is on the mind. 

Me: And it might not even be a full night's work! The dude might pass out after three minutes anyway. Give me two shots of tequila, three minutes, and I could pay off this house. 

Mom: Hey, what kind of girl talks like this? And you're a professor?

Me: I'm a professor who'll never have one million dollars!

Dad: Hahahaha! Mom, would you have sex with someone for one million dollars?

Mom: I'd do it for half that. 

Dad: Yeah, me too.

Mom: Who would pay YOU? 

END. 

My mom should be Jeremy Lin's publicist.

In response to my making fun of her for wishing that her children were successful like Jeremy Lin, my mother retraced her steps and said that she actually didn't care about how much money my brother and I make and doesn't really wish that we were NBA stars. Instead, she explained, she admires Jeremy Lin for his personality:

"He has such a great attitude. And he is so polite. He works hard and appreciates what he has. He knows how to treat people with respect. He is a very good person. He is clearly a product of a good upbringing. That is why I like him."

What I want to ask is, HOW THE HELL DOES SHE KNOW?

I'm hoping that Jeremy Lin will do what ball players are expected to do: Get all tatted up, have a few children out of wedlock, get caught with drug or gun possession or both, spend a grotesque amount of money on a monstrosity of a house that could be featured on MTV Cribs. That might be the only way I can get my mom to reclaim me as her offspring.

Damn you, Jeremy Lin.

Jeremy Lin is officially plaguing my existence. Here's how:


Me: So dad says that all you guys are talking about now is Jeremy Lin.

Mom: I told him I should have pushed you and your brother harder when you were kids. But your dad says I'm not a tiger mom. I'm just a mouse mom.

Me: I'm glad you're not a tiger mom.

Mom: And then your dad said that I didn't need to be a tiger mom anyway. So I said, "What, you don't think we could have pushed our kids more?" And he said, "No, they turned out good anyway!" Can you believe that? So arrogant.

Me: What are you saying, mom? That you don't think we're successful?

Mom: Eh, you two are average.

Me: Average?? Mom, average people don't get PhDs and become professors. Average people don't, at the age of twenty-three, become interior designers in New York City and support themselves.

Mom: Oh who cares? Plenty of Chinese kids get PhDs. Nothing special. Jeremy Lin is also twenty-three, and now look at how much money he makes.

Me: Mom, if you're going to compare us to Jeremy Lin, you are going to be very disappointed.

Mom: I wish you and your brother were like Jeremy Lin.

Me: ...

Mom: Okay, I have to go now. My Qi Gong class is starting! Bye!

END.

Linsanity, continued

Mom: Have you been watching Jeremy Lin? He's so good!

Me: Yeah, he's pretty amazing.

Mom: Maybe I should have pushed you and your brother to play basketball. Then maybe you won't be so short.

Me: If it works that way.

Mom: Also, why is it that even though I took you and your brother to church, you never kept your faith? But Jeremy Lin's mom took him to church, and he is still such a good Christian?

Me: Maybe we just like to defy you, mom. Even if you told us to play basketball, we probably would have done something else.

Mom: I should tell your brother to drink more then. He drinks too much!

END.

Mama and Papa Fung Catch Linsanity

Wow, so much has happened since I last posted on this blog, including the rise of Jeremy Lin, who has sparked mad excitement among Chinese and Taiwanese American folks in particular.

Dad: I told your brother that he needs to practice basketball now. And you should practice bowling.

Me: Why bowling?

Dad: Because you're terrible.

END.

-----

Mom: See, Chinese people can do anything!

END.

Letting It All Out

I called my parents on a Saturday.

Dad: Hello?

Me: Hi dad.

Dad: Oh hi!

Me: What are you doing?

Dad: Singing "Jumping Jack Flash"! And it's aaaaallll riiiight nooow. JUMPING JACK FLASH! IT'S A GAS! IT'S A GAS! Mom went out, so I can sing all the loud Rolling Stones songs now.

Me: Where is mom?

Dad: She and Ee Ma went to their Qi Gong class.

Me: Oh right.

Dad: I tell them it's no use. Qi Gong is supposed to teach you how to relax and let out your energy. But they get angry all the time anyway! Hahaha!

Me: So it doesn't work for them.

Dad: It doesn't work! I tell them they're wasting their money and their time and then get angry at me again! Hahahaha!

Me: Well, clearly the key to relaxation is to sing obnoxious songs at the top of your lungs.

Dad: Works for me! Though I think that makes your mom more angry.

END.