This past weekend was Thanksgiving in the U.S. To my family, it’s an excuse to get together for four days, feast, and share stories. To my parents’ credit, they are great storytellers. Perhaps this is where I get my intense satisfaction in collecting “life stories” and “reading” people. One particular story from this Thanksgiving dinner touched my core, one from my own family.
My old stand in
It is a fleeting memory – the day I learned about having an uncle the same age as me. I was five and on a trip to visit my maternal family in eastern China. I was meeting auntie here and uncle there. Too many to count. So I did what any toddler could do — smile, nod and repeat the relatives’ names as my mom guided me through crowds. Bored out of my mind, I counted her steps behind her. Suddenly, Newton’s force propelled my face into her butt. She stopped walking! I was about to start crying when a boy turned, stared at me. My heart sang! To a five year old in a crowd of ADULTS, this was a blessing. It turned out to be a disguise. For the rest of the night, this boy treated me like a slave because he was two weeks older and “above me” in the family ranking as the son of a distant great aunt. I had forgotten about him until this weekend.
My parents and I were discussing plans for my brother (he’s 9) to stay in China with relatives next summer. He was born in the U.S., and doesn’t quite know Mandarin very well despite weekly classes. The conversation turned to their childhoods, the cultural revolution, witnessing famine, etc. My parents then turned towards me with a flood of great expectation. I literally felt their hope showering over me. I did not doubt it fore this probably began before I was born.
My mom started explaining to me how lucky I was, to live in the States, having attended one of the best universities in the world, a job market with relatively lower competition than other countries, high standard of living, etc. She paused, expecting me to voice my retort. I usually do, but I didn’t this time. I knew what was coming.
She began her story. It was a bit lengthy so I’ve summarized it as follows. My uncle is also in his 20s now, living in the same town where he grew up (China has tight control of population migration), and having a difficult time finding manual work with no high school diploma. He had dropped out of school. If my uncle could be a skilled steel mender (the ones who wear masks and melts steel to connect corners of a building), he wouldn’t mind it. Oh how similar and different we are! He and I were born two weeks apart, in the same Chinese province (i.e. state), share some of the same blood, and read the same elementary school textbooks.
My mother then described another side of the family. Her sister’s husband, my uncle, was a banker. He is currently in his 50s, sitting at home enjoying “retirement” because the bank wants younger employees to take leadership positions. Why? Because there are so many people needing, wanting to work. In short, my uncle is being paid a full time salary to sit on his ass at home. Of course there won’t be anymore fancy lunches, dinners, and free driver and car but who is he to complain?
These are two extremes of the spectrum. There is a saying: “Anything and everything can happen in China.” But this is not said with the same hope as the one used for the U.S. where many believe it is still “the promise land,” the “beacon upon a hill.”
Shanghai's metro
Shanghai at night
