Full Circle
Frequently, it occurs to me how little immigrant parents know--and I don't mean that in any negative way. Knowing little of the English language and little about American culture, they assimilate how they can, and what they see is what they absorb and subsequently "know." For instance, until last year, my family had never had a dog--or any pet, for that matter, other than the occasional goldfish we scored from carnivals at Alpine Park. The only kind of dog that we ever "regularly" came in contact with was a distant (but not really, because she lives in El Sereno, which is adjacent to where we live) relative's guard dog, a German shepherd of whom I was stupidly afraid. A little over 1.5 years ago, my dad began contemplating getting a dog; then it became getting a guard dog; and then, of course, it became "getting the dog that 'mumu' [Cantonese translation for a non-blood related grandmother] has." At some point, he found out from mumu the name of the dog breed in Chinese, and the only part I understood in that translation was "German," and all of a sudden, "German shepherd" made sense. At the time, the only other type of dog he knew about was the chihuahua, and that was only because our cousins next door had had one for a few years already. So then we got Avery in February 2015. A few months ago, we got Milou, a Dachshund, and my dad could only describe him as "a brown chihuahua," because that was the only other breed he knew. Surely, he has seen a plethora of other dog breeds over his lifetime, but he was applying only what he knew, from the limited knowledge--perhaps the better word is exposure, and/ or understanding--that he had. That's not to say anything negative--it just highlights to me that the learning process never stops. No matter how many years you've lived and experienced, it's hard to truly say that you've seen/ been through it all.
I used to think that adults knew everything. Heck, when I reached what I thought was (numerically speaking) adulthood, I thought I knew everything and therefore did not need my parents' consultation anymore. But now that I'm actually an adult, having experienced rent, bills, full-time work, and all that great adult stuff, I increasingly--and humbly--realize that I don't know it all, and that I do need consultation, that I have much more to experience, and much more to learn, from everyone and anyone around me. Talk about a reality check. A life lesson? I'm not even quite sure what it is, because a reality check sounds harsh, but a life lesson, despite its nomenclature, doesn't sound impactful enough. Anyhow, I don't think I've ever been in a position to need consultation, advice, learning, and experience more than I do now. And I might feel the exact same way again in a couple of years, ten years, etc. And that's one of the most humbling things I've ever felt, and most likely one of the most humbling things I will feel for years to come.
What's important is to next embrace that humility and take the opportunity to learn from those around you. Sometimes I feel bad telling my parents they're wrong or unknowledgeable about something, but sometimes I feel bad not saying anything at all--and, admittedly, I feel worse when I whine, "You just don't understand!" and leave it at that. But in the past few days, it occurred to me that they're expressing moments of vulnerability and humility, and I shouldn't shoot them down for not knowing certain things about a culture which is still strange and unfamiliar to them; rather, just as they have taught me all of the lessons and values that have made me a productive person in this society (or so I like to think), I should help them to assimilate to this American culture of which I am very much a part.
I think parents don't like to express very much that they need us, because they're the parents and we'll (supposedly) always be their "babies." But there does come a point in their lives when they need us, just as we needed--and need--them growing up. In fact, as we and our parents grow older, the need becomes reciprocal. This need refers to both physical and emotional need, as well as intellectual and cultural need, the latter particularly for immigrant parents (see anecdote above). Most kids, whether or not they openly admit it, depend on their parents immensely--a great need for many years. But the inflection point at which the parents begin to exhibit, or reciprocate, the need for their kids--that's tremendous. That's vulnerable; that's humble. That's a point when our parents, at whatever age they may be, can say they have not been through it all just yet, that they have more to learn and to experience, and they need us to help them in doing so. And as bothersome or burdensome as it may seem, we need to embrace this moment with love and patience. Because we'll be there some day, too.
I used to think that adults knew everything. Heck, when I reached what I thought was (numerically speaking) adulthood, I thought I knew everything and therefore did not need my parents' consultation anymore. But now that I'm actually an adult, having experienced rent, bills, full-time work, and all that great adult stuff, I increasingly--and humbly--realize that I don't know it all, and that I do need consultation, that I have much more to experience, and much more to learn, from everyone and anyone around me. Talk about a reality check. A life lesson? I'm not even quite sure what it is, because a reality check sounds harsh, but a life lesson, despite its nomenclature, doesn't sound impactful enough. Anyhow, I don't think I've ever been in a position to need consultation, advice, learning, and experience more than I do now. And I might feel the exact same way again in a couple of years, ten years, etc. And that's one of the most humbling things I've ever felt, and most likely one of the most humbling things I will feel for years to come.
What's important is to next embrace that humility and take the opportunity to learn from those around you. Sometimes I feel bad telling my parents they're wrong or unknowledgeable about something, but sometimes I feel bad not saying anything at all--and, admittedly, I feel worse when I whine, "You just don't understand!" and leave it at that. But in the past few days, it occurred to me that they're expressing moments of vulnerability and humility, and I shouldn't shoot them down for not knowing certain things about a culture which is still strange and unfamiliar to them; rather, just as they have taught me all of the lessons and values that have made me a productive person in this society (or so I like to think), I should help them to assimilate to this American culture of which I am very much a part.
I think parents don't like to express very much that they need us, because they're the parents and we'll (supposedly) always be their "babies." But there does come a point in their lives when they need us, just as we needed--and need--them growing up. In fact, as we and our parents grow older, the need becomes reciprocal. This need refers to both physical and emotional need, as well as intellectual and cultural need, the latter particularly for immigrant parents (see anecdote above). Most kids, whether or not they openly admit it, depend on their parents immensely--a great need for many years. But the inflection point at which the parents begin to exhibit, or reciprocate, the need for their kids--that's tremendous. That's vulnerable; that's humble. That's a point when our parents, at whatever age they may be, can say they have not been through it all just yet, that they have more to learn and to experience, and they need us to help them in doing so. And as bothersome or burdensome as it may seem, we need to embrace this moment with love and patience. Because we'll be there some day, too.
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