Shau Mei-Mei - Growing up "Half Chinese"

When our first born was still getting around on all fours, we moved to Taipei, Taiwan.  Up until her birth we had both been full-time school teachers.  If you know any such beings, you understand that full-time is putting it lightly, as teachers spend their evenings, weekends and midnight dreams focusing on their students’ work.  After having a child we realized that somebody needed to be a parent, too.  So we packed up our lives and moved across the world where my husband could earn enough as a teacher to support a family of three, and I could be a stay-at-home mom.

While he adjusted to his new job at the International School, Delaney and I explored the markets, alleys and playgrounds of our new neighborhood.  Each morning we would venture out from our comfortably air-conditioned apartment to one of the many nearby playgrounds to melt in the heat and humidity.  We played on the swings and flew down the polished concrete slides countless times with a “Wheeeee!”  We met many other families out for their morning fun, and did our best to make friends.  I studied Mandarin and became quite adept at my Mommy Chinese.  I could discuss the basics of age and gender, nationality and language limits, and of course the all-important snacks.

Delaney, a fair-skinned, sandy-haired kid with blue eyes and curly-whirly hair, was quite an attraction everywhere we went.  She stood out among the local children, who all had very straight black hair and sparkly brown eyes.  Daily she was asked to pose for pictures with other children and families.  Whenever we went into the crowded downtown we had to plan extra time for the conversations and photo shoots.  At one holiday celebration in the city square we had a line of at least 30 people waiting to pose with our Shirley Temple look-alike.  My friend who visited from the states commented that it was like traveling with Michael Jordan.

In Taiwan, as in most asian countries, all children are cherished.   And when said child’s appearance makes her a near celebrity, the child is downright spoiled by strangers.  At every shop she was given a special treat.  On every corner people would pinch her cheeks and rummage in their pocket for a gift.  Often a tiny jello cup or piece of brightly wrapped candy, we would accept the gift with a “Syeh-syeh, ni!” and go on our way.  In America we tell kids to not accept candy from strangers.  That was NOT our world, at home in Taiwan.  

Once, on a weekend get-away in the mountains, the three of us were enjoying a picnic.  While enjoying the panoramic view of the marble cliffs and lush greenery, amazed at all the beauty this island had to offer, we noticed a tour-bus pulling into the hotel. We watched as at least 50 young women poured out of the vehicle and made a bee-line to the polished stone picnic table at which we sat.  Each college-aged girl needed to squeeze our child, pose for a picture and give her a treasure.  We had to make many of these treats disappear before Delaney consumed them all at once.  We were never concerned about the safety of the gifts, just the sugar content!  After each and every one of them met Delaney, the mass of young ladies then re-boarded the bus and disappeared, bus and all.  Then our picnic was quiet once again.  Apparently, we were the tourist attraction of the moment.

After a year in Taipei Delaney was ready for more stimulation so we decided to put her in an english speaking preschool.  We had the option of going to a Chinese preschool, but we felt that she was getting enough exposure to the language and culture on our daily excursions.  It was time for some social experiences without Mom, and a chance to make friends in her own language.

Twice a week I would pack up a little lunch box, hoist my petite child onto my back in her aluminum framed pack (the closest thing we had to a vehicle while living in Taiwan) and hike the mile-and-a-half to school.  To avoid the noisy, congested and polluted main road, each day we tried a different route.  My favorite became the patch of rice paddies sandwiched between multi-storied buildings an all sides.  These green fields, dotted with lean-to shack residences, had raised paths that zigzagged the soggy terrain until they spat you out onto a paved alley very near the school.

One particular day it really struck me that our Delaney was integrated into this lifestyle and that life here was so NORMAL to her little self.  We were trying a new route through a quiet alley when she perked up and muttered, “I smell…” she hesitated and sniffed a couple of big whiffs and repeated, “I smell…a temple!”  A moment after this declaration we turned a corner and guess what?  There stood one of the small neighborhood temples that you’ll find all over Taipei, with wisps of incense smoke curling up to the sky.  Yes, my tiny daughter could find a temple with her nose.

When she was three years old we returned to the Pacific Northwest.  The distance between us and the grandparents had become too great and we were all hankering for extended family.  As we were reunited with aunts, uncles and cousins, we heard Delaney telling people, “I am half-Chinese!”  We laughed SO hard and tried to explain that sure, she knew some Chinese language but that she was not, indeed, Chinese.  I look back at that and realize how wise and simply true her statement was, and that we were wrong, at least in a sense.  We, in our adult brains, jumped to the definition of Chinese race and ethnicity, when that was not what our innocent little daughter was saying at all.  She was totally adapted to living in a Chinese culture, her sensibility was Chinese, and she learned to value what is valued in the Chinese culture.

I am sad that so many of her childhood memories are fuzzy.  Our now adult child feels 100 percent American, complete with stranger-danger fears and the need for personal space.  At least, for a time, she was very sweetly Half Chinese.