I spent Christmas Eve with my father’s side of the family.
Christmas Eve on my father’s side of the family is usually a simple affair – the cousins, aunts and uncles get together and we make polite small chat over lunch. The cousins would catch up with other in English, all of our respective parents would discuss matters in Mandarin, and we would all excuse apologize afterward for leaving early, as we all had our lives to attend to.
But this year was different – without my mother there, my father was noticably more relaxed. There were some new additions to the family as well: my uncle’s new wife and eleven year son Hubert had recently moved to the United States from Taiwan, as well as two Chinese girls in their late twenties to early thirties, adopted daughters of my other uncle. Speaking Mandarin in rapid-fire, this extended branch of cousins jostled and joked with our aunts and uncles and took photographs of each other with peace signs that morphed into bunny ears. I assume they were having the time of their lives.
On a complete tangeant: I’m sorry – Hubert is a horrible name. The reason why Asians choose to rename themselves to something “cooler,” like Dickey or Maverick or Yolanda, is because they were born with names like “Hubert.” Would I pick two random characters in a Chinese dictionary if I wanted to give my kid a Chinese name? No? Then one of us American cousins should have been notified on the naming of this child, I’m just saying. And for the record, I really DO know of people who named themselves Dickey, Maverick and Yolanda.
Sorry, I’m digressing; I just needed to get that off my chest, that’s all.
I throw a look to my cousins – the ones with English as a first language – and telepathically ask them if we’ve been replaced by a new set of Chinese-speaking cousins, ones that are polite and respectful to elders and will marry for family appeasement. My cousin Chris, the cool one who’s been on Frontline, glares back. “All signs point to yes,” he seems to say.
The lunch conversation only got better. Mandarin is in italics.
Uncle: BuoBuo, would you like some more fish balls?
My Dad: No, thank you.
Adopted Girl: Maybe if you called him “handsome BuoBuo” he would have said yes.
Ernie: (jaw drops)
My Dad: (blushing) No, no. I would have only accepted if you called me old BuoBuo.
Adopted Girl: You’re so MODEST!
Ernie: OH MY GOD, WHO ARE YOU!?
No, I didn’t really say that. Out loud.
Cousin’s wife: (whispering) What’s going on?
Ernie: (whispering) I’ll let you know when I’m not so horrified.
If there were a time to transcript a moment in my life into a short film, this would have been it; here we were, sitting at the dining table, two cultures clashing on the most important Christian holiday of the year. Here were these people with good intentions trying to make everything for the better; I’m sure they’re all wonderful people, and I’m something had happened that caused my uncle to invite them into their home, as their adopted daughters, no less. And here I was, the asshole American cousin, muttering under my breath, sure as hell not feeling the spirit of Christmas.
But at the end of the day, I couldn’t give a shit. How dare you try to steal my dysfunctional family, I wanted to tell her.
That sounds so much better than our family drama of my 24 year old cousin bringing his 35 year old girlfriend (that has 2 kids) to Christmas eve dinner.
Two years ago, when he was 22, he was dating a 15 year old girl.
He’s all over the place that kid is.
At least you have family drama at Christmas! My christmas day involved watching my Dad and step-mum changing dipers and feed my baby half-brother. My step mum is from small-town China, entirely alien to Western civilization and barely understands why we have a fuss at this time in the first place.
I would kill to be named Maverick. That’s just so butch!
Hubert, on the other hand, reminds me of the old video game Q-bert. Good game. Not the best name.
Chris, if you were named Maverick, you’d need a sidekick called Goose, and guys named Goose are very hard to find!
Ernie, in reading this post, it really sounded hopeful to me; like you’ll have better family times ahead. I sure hope so!
Wait, was he a “Q-Bert” Hubert, or was he a Hubert a la “Hugh-Bear”? Perhaps this is fixable…
Ok, long time reader but first time commenter. I have to say that what is it with Asian parents saddling their offspring with names that the “think” their Caucasian counterparts name their children, but in reality, DON’T. I am Ernie, hello Dad, but did you really think that naming me after Hemingway would actually minimize the fact that “where’s Bert” was the defining question of my childhood? Ernie, I’m asking you LYD, any comments on this one? I went to college and met a Tyrone Yang. Tyrone? What? Another family I grew up with had an Olivia (as in Newton-John) and Ringo (no explanation needed). You know what I’m really waiting for though is? When Asian-American couple start hyphenating the kids last names. How about Judy/John Wong-Yang? It’s coming people……
I had a conversation with my dad on this one. He mentioned that a lot of his acquaintences (growing up in the Chinatown ghetto of San Francisco) were named for what their parents thought were acceptable caucasian names– taken from street signs. You got a lot of Washington Wongs (hey, wasn’t he a founding father, after all?), Stockton Lee, etc.
A few were also named after Cities. I knew two brothers named Howard and Hayward. Cool guys. But funky names. You can’t blame the parents. They have the best intentions. Shoot, if they name a street after you, it must be the name of a great person, right?
Oh yes, the Chinese cousins who are so blatantly exuberant and effusive and so unselfconscious in their compliments that it makes me wonder whether I have turned into a Scrooge the night before. The question is, how on earth do they have the energy to be so goddamn cheerful all the time?
My theory is that Chinese Cousins find “blatantly exuberant” a better alternative to “houndedly guilt-ridden disloyal sons/daughters” (in their parents eyes, of course). They still beat you in the Old Country if you’re bad too.
that’s okay. on hannukah, my girlfriend’s mother asked me if i wanted to self-administer an enema. i won’t elaborate.
>And for the record, I really DO know of people who named themselves Dickey, Maverick and Yolanda.
As I also know someone who has named himself Sebastian!
)
Thank you for reminding me why I eschew family Christmases,except for other people’s families
)
And I must come from another generation, but Hubert reminds me of Hubert Hubert in Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita, lol!
>My theory is that Chinese Cousins find “blatantly exuberant” a better alternative to “houndedly guilt-ridden disloyal sons/daughters” (in their parents eyes, of course). They still beat you in the Old Country if you’re bad too.
Hmm, yes, Jonathan, gives one another insight into Goneril and Regan of King Lear, doesn’t it? lol
>that’s okay. on hannukah, my girlfriend’s mother asked me if i wanted to self-administer an enema. i won’t elaborate.
Yikes.com! lol
the lolita protagonist is humbert humbert. which would be a much worse thing to be named…
wait…. tell me your cousins were adopted at birth and now they are late 20’s/early 30’s… or else is there really a “soon-yi” clause?
Two of my Beijing cousins’ names are Jupiter and Evo. Not a joke.
LOL! Most people are trying to ditch their dysfunctional families…especially at Christmastime!