Fish Cheeks

I fell in love with the ministers son the winter I turned fourteen. He was non Chinese, but as white as Mary in the manger. For Christmas I prayed for this blond-haired boy, Robert, and a slim new American nose. When I found out that my parents had invited the ministers family over for Christmas Eve dinner, I cried. What would Robert come back of our shabby Chinese Christmas? What would he think of our noisy Chinese relatives who lacked good American manners? What terrible disappoint-ment would he feel upon seeing not a roasted turkey and sweet potatoes but Chinese regimen?On Christmas Eve I saw that my mother had outdone herself in creating a strange menu. She was pulling black veins out of the backs of fleshy prawns. The kitchen was littered with horrible mounds of raw food A slimy rock cod with protrude eyes that pleaded not to be thrown into a pan of red-hot oil. Tofu, which looked like stacked wedges of rubbery white sponges. A bowl plunge dried fungus back to life. A pl ate of squid, their backs crisscrossed with knife markings so they resembled bicycle tires. And then they arrived the ministers family and all my relatives in a clamor of doorbells and ruffle up Christmas packages.Robert grunted hello, and I pretended he was not worthy of existence. Dinner threw me deeper into despair. My relatives shell the ends of their chopsticks and reached across the table, dipping them into the dozen or so plates of food. Robert and his family waited patiently for platters to be passed to them. My relatives murmured with pleasance when my mother brought out the whole steamed fish. Robert grimaced. Then my father poked his chopsticks retributory below the fish eye and plucked out the soft meat. Amy, your favorite, he said, offering me the tender fish cheek.I wanted to disappear. At the end of the repast my father leaned back and belched loudly, thanking my mother for her fine cooking. Its a polite Chinese custom to show you are satisfied, explained my fathe r to our astonished guests. Robert was looking plenty at his plate with a reddened face. The minister managed to muster up a quiet burp. I was stunned into silence for the rest of the night. subsequently everyone had gone, my mother said to me, You want to be the same as American girls on the outside. She handed me an early gift.It was a miniskirt in chromatic tweed. But inside you must always be Chinese. You must be proud you are different. Your only shame is to have shame. And even though I didnt agree with her then, I knew that she understood how much I had suffered during the evenings dinner. It wasnt until many year later long after I had gotten over my pressure on Robert that I was able to fully appreciate her lesson and the true economic consumption behind our particular menu. For Christmas Eve that year, she had chosen all my favorite foods.