One of my earliest memories starts with me sobbing. I refused to be soothed no matter what Mom and Dad tried.Dad gave up and left the bedroom, but mom took me into the kitchen and sat me down at the breakfast table.Kan, kan, she said, as she pulled a sheet of wrapping paper from the top of the fridge [...] She set the paper down, plain side facing up, and began to fold it. I stopped crying and watched her, curious.
Dad had picked Mom out of a catalog.[...]I've never seen this picture. Dad described it: Mom was sitting in a chair, her side to the camera, wearing a tight green silk cheongsam. Her head was turned to the camera so that her long black hair was draped artfully over her chest and shoulder. She looked out at him with the eyes of a calm child
At my request, Mom made a goat, a deer, and a water buffalo out of wrapping paper. They would run around the living room while Laohu chased after them, growling.
If I say 'love' I feel here [mouth], if I say 'ai.' I feel here [heart]
You have to, I've been too easy on you. Jack needs to fit in
SPEAK ENGLISH
I don't know anything about the Chinese calendar I said Just rest, MomJust keep the box and open it every once in a while. Just open- She began to cough againIt's okay, Mom I stroked her arm awkwardly.Haizi, mama ai ni-Her cough took over again. An image of her flashed into my memory: Mom saying ai then putting her hand over her heartAll right, Mom. Stop talking.
The young woman handed the paper back to me. I could not bear to look into her face.Without looking up, I asked for her help in tracing out the character for ai on the paper below Mom's letter. I wrote the character again and again on the paper, intertwining my pen strokes with her words.The young woman reached out and put a hand on my shoulder. Then she got up and left, leaving me alone with my mother
Following the creases, I refolded the paper back into Laohu. I cradled him in the crook of my arm, and as he purred, we began the walk home.