An Excerpt from “The Strength of Water, An Asian American Coming of Age Memoir”

It was at school that I learned the custom of celebrating birthdays. In traditional Chinese culture, only people who had reached an advanced age celebrated birthdays. Then, it was they who gave presents to their family and friends to share the good fortune that allowed them to advance to such a ripe age in prosperity.

But I wanted to please Ba, make him a little happy, and make him like me more and hit me less. I knew that his birthday was approaching. I wanted to get him a present. But how? My nickel from cleaning the bathroom wasn’t enough to buy anything of value, and I wanted to get him something special.

I thought of the laundry stored on the highest shelf. After a time, when a customer did not pick up his package, we removed it from the lower shelves and stored it on the topmost shelf, hoping that he would someday return to claim it. There was one package I knew with certainty had been there for years. It was stored high in a corner behind other packages.

One day, when Ba was out, I climbed up there and brought it down. When I opened the package, I found a bundle of all different types of clothing. But right on top was a crisp, starched handkerchief folded up nice and tidy.

I took this out, rewrapped the remaining clothes, and put the whole bundle back on the top shelf in its corner — the handkerchief I carefully wrapped in paper and hid away. When the expected day arrived, I brought the gift from its hiding place.

“Happy birthday, Ba,” I said, handing him my little package.

Ba squinted his eyes in suspicion, looking ill-tempered and tired. It had been another long and exhausting day. Opening the package to find the handkerchief, he sharply asked, “Where did you get this from?”

“I … I got it from the oldest of the unclaimed laundry packages.”

Ba slapped me and said that I was never to do that again. I knew then that it was no use trying to explain that I understood that the handkerchief did not belong to us, that it was dangerous to climb to the top shelf, and that it was not his custom to celebrate birthdays. But none of that had been important when I so much wanted to do some little thing to make Ba happy. Why could he not see that also?

On another occasion, the school administrator came to our class. “Are there any children,” she asked, “whose families could use some help for the holidays this year and who would like to receive a basket of Christmas food?”

Immediately, I raised my hand to ask for the basket. How exciting, I thought. I told Katie about it on the way home, and she was excited, too. I hoped that Ba would be pleased that I had got us a basket of food. In any case, it would be so lovely to have a special supper.

On Christmas Eve day, a volunteer parent came to the laundry. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Yee. From all of us at the school to your family, we wish you a happy holiday.”

Ba was dumbstruck as he inspected the great basket. It was decorated with green and red bows and was filled with canned cranberries, bundles of yams and sweet potatoes, loaves of fruit and nut bread, and a whole smoked ham.

“Thank you,” he began slowly, “but what is …”

“Ba,” I began to explain in Chinese, “I got that for us. Someone from the school came by and asked if any of us needed help for the holidays and would like to receive a basket of food for Christmas. I said that we would like one. Aren’t you glad?”

Ba’s face became hard and pinched looking. The man again said he hoped we would enjoy our holiday, but Ba did not reply. At last, the man attempted farewell and hesitatingly walked out the door.

Ba turned to me, saying, “Now you listen to me. We do not take charity from anybody. We take care of ourselves. Do you understand that? We take care of ourselves!” He was so angry. He did not hit me, but I felt struck. And underlying his anger, I sensed his profound loss of face, deep bitterness, and shame at not being able to comfortably provide for his family, no matter how hard he worked.

There are statements that our parents make that shape our lives. I never forgot what I felt, having tried again to please my father and having failed. I never forgot his words or his fierce pride. They burned through me, and afterward, independence became my driving force.

Karin K. Jensen’s book “The Strength of Water, An Asian American Coming of Age Memoir” is available on Amazon and wherever books are sold online. Learn more about “The Strength of Water” on her website.