I have always wanted to put my mother's harrowing story of her crossing to America down in print. It is harder than I thought it would be and more daunting that I wish to admit. However, a great friend of mine, suggested that I take it one anecdote at a time. Trying to see if there were similarities in our experiences that could explain the nuances in our relationship and the situation. I am not starting with her crossing...but just short pictures into our lives. So here is the first one...
As a self centered, pre-teen concerned with my image, I did not want to wear a traditional Vietnamese ao dai to the Annual Tet Festival with the da vu after. I wanted to be cool and attractive in my 13 year old, boy shaped body. Without a thought to what my mother had to do at work, I called her in the middle of day to express my displeasure with the wardrobe choice for the Festival. The conversation escalated into a full blown argument, with me railing against my overly calm mother, about how unfair it was that I HAD to wear an ao dai while other girls didn't have to. How could she put me in a situation where I wouldn't fit in, when I was already the suburban, not truly Vietnamese, girl at the Festival. She was staunch in this belief that I should represent my heritage, even if I didn't like it. I should look respectable and be respected. I pouted that weekend as I wore the ao dai, but my father rumba-ed and cha-cha-ed with me a number of times to show how proud he was that HIS daughter nodded to tradition.
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