Mike Wang - Love Between the Lines

 

 

My Sunday mornings often began in one way, me unloading a full dishwasher, the remnants of the dinner party that I would host the night before. My love language is cooking elaborate meals, and then pretending that I did not spend 13 hours for it with the people I care about. I'm the son of two Chinese immigrants. This is how we love. 

 

This Sunday morning was a little different. I get a phone call from my dad. I look at my phone. It's on WeChat, and I'm reminded he's in Shanghai seeing my extended family. I answer, “Hey, baba.” Hey Dad. Liang chi le ma?” Liang is my name in Chinese, and chi le ma means, have you eaten? You see, in Chinese culture, rather than greeting someone with hello or good morning or how are you, you say, “chi le ma, have you eaten?” When you care about somebody in our culture, you want to make sure that they've eaten enough. 

 

I reply, “I just had a little coffee, dad. How about you?” And he says, “Liang, I have something to tell you. Your grandfather has passed away. The funeral is in two days.” My heart sinks. What do you say to your father when he has just lost his own father? “Are you okay? I'm sorry. I love you, dad. I'm here for you.” Those are not the words that I said. I have never said I love you to my dad, and my dad has never said I love you to me. I don't imagine my grandfather, his father, had ever said I love you to him either. And now, he would never hear it. 

 

That does not mean that I did not grow up in a family filled with love. I did. I love yous were just expressed through different ways. The I love yous I felt were through 07:00 AM mornings where my parents both would be up giving me a warm breakfast and then driving me an hour into New York, so I could go to school. We lived in New Jersey. The I love yous I felt were fresh cut fruit that they left outside my room at midnight while I was still studying. The I love yous that I felt were measured in the hours that pork belly was braised and the number of chive shrimp dumplings they made, love between the lines. 

 

I replied to my dad, “Dad, what can I do? How can I help?” And my dad replied, “There's nothing that you need to do. Everything is taken care of here. You don't need to come to Shanghai to the funeral. Focus on your work. Your career is most important right now. We'll be okay. Don't worry.”

 

Normally, I would have said yes and obey. In Chinese culture, respecting your elders is one of our core values. But I paused. What if what my dad wanted was not what he needed? I heard myself say, “No, dad, I'm going to go to Shanghai. I'm going to buy a ticket right after this call. I want to be there. I need to be there.” And to my surprise, he said, “Okay.” I even think I heard a little relief in his voice. 

 

Next day, I fly to Shanghai. I get to my grandparent’s house, knock on the door. My dad opens the door. What do you do when you see your dad for the first time since he's lost his father? Do you handshake? Do you wave? Do you hug? Before I can do anything, my dad takes a step forward, and grabs my two bags and takes it to my room. [audience laughter] I walk in, I say hello to my uncle. He says, “Chi le ma.” Before I can say anything, he hands me his two marbled tea eggs. Those are his specialty. I start eating them. 

 

I walk over to my mom, my aunt and my grandma. They're all sitting down, folding silver paper into ingots. Ingots are a Chinese coin that are shaped like dumplings. And the ritual is the more ingots that you fold, the idea is that you burn it or you bury it in the coffin, that's what the deceased, my grandfather, would have in the afterlife. We must have folded a thousand ingots in silence that night. 

 

The next day was the funeral. My dad gave the eulogy. He cried. I was asked at the end to go up with my two uncles and my dad to nail the four corners of the coffin shut before it was sent for cremation. I was sad, but really glad I could be there to support my family. 

 

The next day, I had to go back to San Francisco. My flight was at 07:00 AM, and my parents insisted on taking me to the airport. We're at the gate, and we begin our traditional goodbyes. I hug 

my mom and then my mom nudges me and says, “Go hug your dad.” I pause, freeze and then I take a step forward. And my dad says something. He sticks out his hand and says, “No, we handshake. [audience laughter] We handshake. Goodbye.” 

 

I walk to the gate. Right as I'm about to go to the security check, right before I'm out of earshot, I hear him say, “Liang, fēijī shàng chī diǎn dōngxī.” Liang, make sure you go eat something on the plane. [audience laughter] “I will, dad.” “Dad, make sure you eat something too.” Thank you. Thanks, San Francisco.