“Did You Eat Yet?” Communication in Chinese American Families

When I moved out of the city to pursue a liberal arts degree in the outskirts of Massachusetts, my anxious mother would call me every night and ask me if I had eaten yet. I would tell her that I did, even if I had gone to sleep that night without eating dinner. At the time, I was going through an existential crisis, as many others experienced in their college years. Yet, every night, my mom would call me and repeat the same things over and over again: 1. “Are you going to find a job with that degree?” 2. “How much did you spend on rent this month?” and, of course, 3. “Did you eat yet?”

I always answered in English: 1. “I hope so.” 2. “Let me check.” 3. “Yes.” 

One day, our argument about my plans to study abroad led me to do something almost taboo for children of immigrants: In a fit of anger, I hung up on her and didn’t speak to her for days.

The truth was, there was so much I wanted to share with her at the moment, and later, I learned there were things she wanted to tell me as well. After a couple of days, we resumed talking. However, it wasn’t until I returned home for summer break that she brought up the phone incident. In Chinese, she apologized, saying she just wanted me to be happy. In English, I said I was sorry too and that I was happy.

Yet, “sorry” and “happy” always felt insufficient. Our deep feelings were masked by the default question of “Did you eat yet?” and nothing past that. 

In many Chinese homes, the common phrase “Did you eat yet?” is a simple greeting expressing love and concern. Despite its brevity, such phrases often become an important means of communication between second-generation Chinese Americans and their immigrant parents.

As I navigate my place within the political landscape of the Chinese American diaspora, I recognize my personal journey as part of a larger, shared experience shaped by systemic racism.

English Language Acquisition and Mandates

After Spanish, Chinese is the most commonly spoken non-English home language. Yet, Chinese Americans have comparatively low rates of heritage language maintenance. Education policies such as Proposition 227 were made to eradicate bilingual education, which in turn affected many Chinese Americans’ capacity to communicate on a deeper level with their parents — the hegemonic nature of American education preys on the priority of surviving in an English-speaking world. 

The utility of English extends far beyond governmental and medical contexts to encompass everyday interactions, academic pursuits, and essential qualifications for a wide array of careers. Programs like English as a Second Language (ESL) are used to help school-age children learn how to read, write, and listen in English as quickly as possible. Within ESL programs, Chinese is notably prevalent as a home language among English language learners (ELL). 

I was no exception; I was held back in kindergarten and subsequently placed into ESL about a year later because I was “not meeting developmental benchmarks.” This was a decision made between my teacher and my mother, although my mother had little say in the matter. She understood fragments of what my teacher explained in English, relying on her limited understanding because our school lacked Chinese interpreters. This language barrier made it difficult, especially regarding important school communications that were all in English or Spanish. As a result, my mother struggled to be engaged in my school life, sharing a predicament not dissimilar to that of the mother, activist, and former ESL educator Suzanne Lee, aided during Boston’s busing crisis, a period of mandated school desegregation marked by protests and turbulence. 

Lee, a first-year bilingual teacher at Josiah Quincy Elementary School (JQES) in Boston’s Chinatown during the busing crisis, supported many Chinese mothers who received notices in English only, informing them of their children’s imminent integration into schools outside Chinatown. Their frantic requests for translation ignited a prolonged advocacy effort with the Boston School Committee, demanding bilingual resources and protections for Chinese American students.

Since the 1970s, however, Lee has observed what she perceives as a decline in education standards. The catalyst for this shift was Proposition 227, championed by Silicon Valley millionaire Ron Unz in 1998. This initiative mandated that California public schools primarily teach Limited English Proficiency students in English, effectively phasing out bilingual classes in many instances. The impact soon extended to Massachusetts.

During this period, Lee was serving as principal at JQES. When bilingual teachers expressed concerns about potential repercussions, she reassured them with her unwavering stance against the district: “My role is to educate, and I will use whatever language is necessary for students to learn.”

Healing Our Community 

In a sit-down interview with Lee, I asked her how the education system impacted the dynamics of Chinese families in America. She responded, “It impacts a whole lot of people’s upbringings. It causes a lot of rifts within our community. I have always said that, to me, is one of the crucial and number one problems within our community — when you don’t have generations that understand each other.” 

On an institutional level, Lee pointed out, “It’s gonna require a whole lot of people to wake up and continue to organize and fight this.” The issue goes beyond language. It is the preservation of culture and protection of the underserved. In the name of saying English is beneficial, we lose our identities. Though it is important to acknowledge that the loss of a language in a hegemonic society is neither the fault of the individual nor their parent, it is a systemic issue that we are all trying to tackle one day at a time. 

So, how do we, as everyday people, challenge that issue at home?

Katie Yue-Sum Li, who previously taught ESL, is now an ethnic studies coach for the Boston Teachers Union. After an hour-long conversation with her, I came away with two key reminders. 

1. Communication goes beyond mechanics. 
2. Remember, we are alive. It’s never too late to start learning. 

Through the love of family and the meaningful relationships Li developed with ESL students, she began piecing together her Cantonese again later in life. “While I think the actual mechanics of learning a language is very important,” she began, “… the base, the foundation is actually relationships.” We often forget that language is not a tool for capitalism or to further ourselves in the job market. It is a way to communicate love. She tells me to remember that no one is too old or young to learn a language. 

Li is also a parent of two trilingual children, which she emphasized was “definitely an intentional decision [we] made based on what happened to us growing up.” We both shared an experience found commonly among many second-generation Americans. As we got older and found our way up the educational ladder, our abilities to speak Chinese deteriorated.

I am approaching my final year in college with a minor in Chinese language and literature. Rewiring years of ESL and learning to write in my mother’s language was laborious, but it was a labor of love. Upon declaring I would pick up Chinese again, my mother would call me excitedly and ask me what assignments I had to complete that day. She would even offer to help me. Still, at the end of the day, she would conclude with “Nǐ chī le ma?” 

To that, I would say, “Chī le. Nǐ ne?”

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