Colorado: Joy Ruck Crub

Getting my part-time hostess job at the ski resort was one thing, telling my mother about it was quite another. But before I get into that, I need to provide a little history on what it was like growing up in my family. If you've ever seen the highly acclaimed movie in the early 90's based on Amy Tan's novel Joy Luck Club about four Chinese-American mother-daughter relationships (my favorite scene being a young Russell Wong sticking his entire fist into an open watermelon and slurping it up), then you'll have an inkling of what it's like to be a Chinese-American daughter. Unless of course you are one yourself, then you'll know exactly what I mean.

My parents abandoned a life of luxury along with their Filipino maid when leaving Hong Kong to come to the U.S. so that my sister and I could have a safer future in case the Chinese take-over in '97 spells disaster for the HK economy (which turned out to be quite the opposite.) And when your Chinese parents are college-educated with esteemed professions, your worth is measured by how well you do in school and how successful you are (or how much money you make) in your career. Growing up, if we brought home a test score of 98, my dad would ask, "Why didn't you get a 100?" And even straight A's were not enough - I had to excel in piano while my sister was a star athlete. Luckily for my parents, their progeny turned out almost exactly what they had hoped for. Excellent grades, respectable careers, and happy marriages were some of the things they could brag about to their friends. Not to mention all the vacations we treated them to once we started working. It appears their decades-long sacrifices had finally paid off with grandkids and retirement to look forward to.

Then one day their eldest woke up from this conforming life and decided to march to her own drums. When I told my mother I was getting a divorce and quiting my six-figure job, it must have felt like a slap in the face. She couldn't sleep for months but understood why I did it. Then when I told her I was taking six months off to travel with my non-Chinese boyfriend, it must have been like splashing a bucket of cold water. But she gave a good face and even offered to make curry chicken for Justin in honor of his Indian heritage (I quickly nixed that idea.) Then she wished us luck with our travels and sent us off to Asia. When we returned, my mother must have hoped that I would finally settle down and get a job again. But when I told her I was spending the winter in Colorado working as a host at the ski resort, it must have been like rubbing salt into old wounds. Old wounds that would never heal as long as I am out and about doing things my way which is clearly divergent from hers.

So when she called and mockingly asked how my first day at work went, she added, "I don't know why you are working for $9 an hour when you can work for $300 an hour." To which I replied, "First of all, I'm not a lawyer or an I-banker so I will never make $300 an hour. Secondly, at least you'll always have your other daughter who is happily married and gainfully employed and will be popping out grandkids in a couple years so you might as well just give up on me." She let out a hearty sigh and proceeded to tell me about her day at work and how to make a Chinese mushroom dish for Justin. It seems no matter how much I must have disappointed her, my mother never fails to provide unconditional love and unwavering support. And for that I will always love and appreciate her to no end.