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Memorable moment of the day
Dec. 21st, 2002 10:51 pmI was invited to a performance at William Paterson University a while ago. My Chinese teacher said it was something like an opera, about the importance of family and parents. It turned out to be a performance by a Buddhist humanitarian aid organization called the Tzu Chi Foundation; it was a musical rendition of the Sutra of Profound Gratitude Towards Parents. This, thought I, would be interesting. I'd pay for my ticket when I got there and sit up in the balcony, as Huang Laoshi had said I would, and all would be well. I got there and people were being directed into parking spaces by volunteers from the organization, so I looped through the parking lot until I found a space. Then I got out and looked for a sign as to which way I should go.
Instead I got a crowd of people all talking to each other in Chinese migrating in the general direction of some campus buildings. The parking lot volunteers, who I realized were all Chinese as well, answered their questions in what sounded like Mandarin and pointed them through the parking lot. I followed the group, but noticed other people migrating through - also Chinese. Got to the performing arts center and realized that all the people heading up the stairs were Chinese, and that I didn't know where the ticket office was - Huang Laoshi had said she'd leave a ticket for me there. I went inside and asked the first volunteer from the Foundation that I saw about tickets, and mentioned my teacher's name. She promptly asked one of the other volunteers a question about the tickets, which gave me the opportunity to look around and realize something...
Every American, at some point in his or her life, ought to be subjected to the experience I had today. Every American ought to know, even if only for a few moments, the kind of boggle-eyed realization that I had, because their ancestors almost certainly did, and they ought to learn what they went through. The realization in question?
"I'm the only white person in this theater."
Nothing - nothing - gives you an appreciation of what your immigrant ancestors must have gone through more quickly than an immersion in a gathering like that. I didn't look like anybody there. I didn't talk like anybody there. I barely knew anything at all of the language being spoken by damn near every single person there. I was taller than most of the women and I could probably look any of the men in the eye, if I weren't so busy wishing myself insignificant so as not to be noticed in my sticking out like a car-doored* thumb. There were a few token spatters of English on the posters in the lobby, but everything else about the performance was written in Chinese characters - not even Hanyu pinyin, which I could at least sound out. I felt utterly and totally embarrassed for not being able to understand what was being said or what had been written... oh, the volunteers were wonderful people and spoke very good English, but still, I didn't understand the rest of it. My Italian ancestors almost certainly went through something very similar when they came to Ellis Island - although they had the advantage of looking somewhat like the people around them, they had the disadvantage of staying in the alien environment. I got to enjoy a lovely performance with excellent music and English subtitles, and then I got to go home. My ancestors didn't. They came here and adapted as best they could.
More Americans should have that happen to them. People need to have an idea.
In other news, we had family Christmas today. Dad's seven brothers and sisters came, and so did all their children - plus a couple of fiances and friends. BIG chaos. It was a good party, though, and people enjoyed themselves. My cousin gave me the Spiderman DVD for Christmas - he's a wonderful cousin, truly he is - and my oldest uncle gave me two heavy sharp Calphalon knives and a BIG MARTIAN. Seriously, this guy's taller than Barbie and has a rubber cape you could use for a hang glider for GI Joe. He's mostly purple, but his head is big and bulgy and green and under a clear plastic dome. If you push a button on his chest he makes nasty noises and growls at you in Martian, and his head lights up and pulsates while he talks. Someone is selling a vintage Mars Attacks Supreme Commander figure at eBay; it looks like that's what I've got. My uncle got it at a garage sale, though, so there's no ID on it. It's too cool for words, though.
Oh! Oh oh oh. And the jade that I bought on eBay came today. I gotta get someone to look at this thing. Looks so much like the huge bronze mask from Sanxingdui that it's not even funny. The guy was billing the carving as being Ming-era. Right. Either this thing is old enough to predate the invention of written language in the outside world, or it was carved sometime after 1931. Not Ming, though. No way it could be Ming. But it's still a cool piece.
I like my family. They might be insane, but I like 'em.
*Much much worse than merely sore. The door in question is that of a 1988 Volvo sedan. I speak from experience.
Instead I got a crowd of people all talking to each other in Chinese migrating in the general direction of some campus buildings. The parking lot volunteers, who I realized were all Chinese as well, answered their questions in what sounded like Mandarin and pointed them through the parking lot. I followed the group, but noticed other people migrating through - also Chinese. Got to the performing arts center and realized that all the people heading up the stairs were Chinese, and that I didn't know where the ticket office was - Huang Laoshi had said she'd leave a ticket for me there. I went inside and asked the first volunteer from the Foundation that I saw about tickets, and mentioned my teacher's name. She promptly asked one of the other volunteers a question about the tickets, which gave me the opportunity to look around and realize something...
Every American, at some point in his or her life, ought to be subjected to the experience I had today. Every American ought to know, even if only for a few moments, the kind of boggle-eyed realization that I had, because their ancestors almost certainly did, and they ought to learn what they went through. The realization in question?
"I'm the only white person in this theater."
Nothing - nothing - gives you an appreciation of what your immigrant ancestors must have gone through more quickly than an immersion in a gathering like that. I didn't look like anybody there. I didn't talk like anybody there. I barely knew anything at all of the language being spoken by damn near every single person there. I was taller than most of the women and I could probably look any of the men in the eye, if I weren't so busy wishing myself insignificant so as not to be noticed in my sticking out like a car-doored* thumb. There were a few token spatters of English on the posters in the lobby, but everything else about the performance was written in Chinese characters - not even Hanyu pinyin, which I could at least sound out. I felt utterly and totally embarrassed for not being able to understand what was being said or what had been written... oh, the volunteers were wonderful people and spoke very good English, but still, I didn't understand the rest of it. My Italian ancestors almost certainly went through something very similar when they came to Ellis Island - although they had the advantage of looking somewhat like the people around them, they had the disadvantage of staying in the alien environment. I got to enjoy a lovely performance with excellent music and English subtitles, and then I got to go home. My ancestors didn't. They came here and adapted as best they could.
More Americans should have that happen to them. People need to have an idea.
In other news, we had family Christmas today. Dad's seven brothers and sisters came, and so did all their children - plus a couple of fiances and friends. BIG chaos. It was a good party, though, and people enjoyed themselves. My cousin gave me the Spiderman DVD for Christmas - he's a wonderful cousin, truly he is - and my oldest uncle gave me two heavy sharp Calphalon knives and a BIG MARTIAN. Seriously, this guy's taller than Barbie and has a rubber cape you could use for a hang glider for GI Joe. He's mostly purple, but his head is big and bulgy and green and under a clear plastic dome. If you push a button on his chest he makes nasty noises and growls at you in Martian, and his head lights up and pulsates while he talks. Someone is selling a vintage Mars Attacks Supreme Commander figure at eBay; it looks like that's what I've got. My uncle got it at a garage sale, though, so there's no ID on it. It's too cool for words, though.
Oh! Oh oh oh. And the jade that I bought on eBay came today. I gotta get someone to look at this thing. Looks so much like the huge bronze mask from Sanxingdui that it's not even funny. The guy was billing the carving as being Ming-era. Right. Either this thing is old enough to predate the invention of written language in the outside world, or it was carved sometime after 1931. Not Ming, though. No way it could be Ming. But it's still a cool piece.
I like my family. They might be insane, but I like 'em.
*Much much worse than merely sore. The door in question is that of a 1988 Volvo sedan. I speak from experience.
