Mom’s Immigrant Experience: Reflections from our Past
My mother had a chance to share her story of raising me during dinner at my wedding which made me reflect and appreciate not only her experience, but the experience and challenges of immigrants collectively.
When my parents immigrated to South Seattle in the 70’s, my mom was nearly thirty, did not know one word of English, and had three young boys in tow. It was more than just culture shock as they left their comfortable home in Hong Kong so we could have the opportunity to receive a better education here in the U.S.
For close to twenty years, life was a struggle. It was about survival. While dad worked as a chef for minimum wage, mom was a waitress to help make ends meet. The family did not have health insurance so they worked at least six days a week with dad working two jobs for many years.
We were considered “latchkey” kids as we returned home from school to an empty house to care for ourselves. Unsupervised by parents or adults for that matter, we had to learn America by ourselves. Without parents who understood English or the system, we simply had to figure it out.
Our parents were doing the same, working to provide for the family, connect with other Chinese immigrants to form a sense of community, all the while trying to raise us as best as they could. Oftentimes, they fell short. This isn’t an indictment against them as it is a reflection of their reality of raising children caught between two worlds. We weren’t Chinese enough to understand our parents or their way of thinking and our parents weren’t “Americanized” enough to communicate to us in English, the language of our choice. Much was lost in translation. Everything from discipline to decision-making to our own understanding of their love for us was lost in this cultural divide.
For many years, I was confused about who I was as a son, as an American, and as a person navigating multiple worlds and identities (Asian, American, urban). Was I Chinese? Was I American? Just as importantly, was I loved? Was I cherished? If so, why weren’t our parents able to be with us? Why were they always working? Why couldn’t they help us?
After years (and I do mean years) of my own therapy, I have been able to work through these issues. It was evident on my wedding day as my mother spoke of this experience. It isn’t easy starting over and that’s what my parents had to contend with while raising three rambunctious and curious boys. 
My parents were proud of me on this day but looking back, I can truly say I am proud of them. For their years of sacrifice, enduring the hardships of acculturation, and overcoming the challenges to find their own place in America. Mom and dad, “We love you!” and appreciate the immigrant experience which emboldens us to be unashamed of who we are and to never forget where we came from.
