Lily Learns Mandarin

Is it really necessary that my daughter learn Chinese? A mother explains why she changed her mind. By Julie Michaels

I have always considered myself someplace in the middle when I thought about the issue of Chinese culture in my daughter's life. Lily is 6 years old, part of the first wave of China adoptees to come to the US. Like many who went to China, I returned with great enthusiasm for the country and its history.

In 1993, a Malaysian friend helped us organize our first Chinese New Year party. Ever since, we have had rats, or oxen or roosters hanging somewhere in our house. We've read books about China, looked for it on the map, talked about it when it was on the front page of the newspaper. We've done our share of dim sum, art exhibits, and culture classes. But when the discussion turned toward teaching our kids Chinese, I always reacted skeptically.
Was learning the language really necessary? I had bought the books and tapes, tried teaching myself some basics, kept up my Nihaos and Xie Xies, but deep down, I wasn't convinced. My daughter, after all, was no longer Chinese. She would grow up Asian-American. Why expend all this time and money on a language she would have little opportunity to use?

That was then. Now, six weeks into Lily's Mandarin lessons, I can't believe I ever hesitated. What brought about my change of heart? Several things. For one, we moved.

From the cultural melting pot that is Brighton, we relocated to western Massachusetts. Where once Lily attended school with other Asians, she is now the only one in her class. In Boston, we had Asian neighbors, a whole circle of FCC friends, even a Korean nanny who lived with use for 8 months. Out here, we are far more isolated from that kind of everyday interaction.

Also, Lily has grown older. What she didn't notice at age 3, she has begun to see clearly at age 6. She looks different from her classmates. And inevitably, she came home one day to say that she felt embarrassed when a child in her class said her eyes were different. We talked about it, about being Chinese, about being adopted. I asked her if she wanted to bring her adoption book to school, if she wanted to talk about it at show and tell. Yes, she'd like to, she replied. Would I come and help her? Of course.

Not long before this school incident, I had begun to alter my reading list. During Lily's early years, my passion for China had led me to read Chinese history, folk tales, or memoirs like "Wild Swans" and "Red Azalea." I even reread Pearl S. Buck's "The Good Earth." But after I attended a talk hosted by an Asian-American study group at UMass, I switched my focus.

I still recall one Asian student's comment. "If you're going to raise your daughters in this country," she said, "you'd better learn as much about Angel Island as you do about the Sung dynasty." And so I started to read about the history of the Chinese in America. I read "Unbound Feet: A Social History of Chinese Women in San Francisco" by Judy Yung and XX by XX. The racism, discrimination and sheer ignorance the Chinese experienced in this country was staggering to me. Though my daughter is growing up in more enlightened times, I began to understand that the greater her own pride was in her Chinese heritage, the better armed she would be for the inevitable slights and misunderstandings.

And finally, there are my own childhood regrets. I am the first generation daughter of a Yugoslav father. Growing up in New York in the 1950s, in a largely Jewish community and surrounded by my mother's Italian-American family, my brother and I were not quick to embrace our paternal heritage. Aside from the odd saint's day, we were not much interested in being Yugoslav. And we certainly had no desire to learn the language. Now, 40 years later, I regret that I was so dismissive. Everytime I hear Serbo-Croatian spoken, my heart gives a little tug. And I am sorry, deeply sorry, that I cannot turn and join the conversation.

So now my daughter studies Mandarin. Each week, after tumbling, she sits down with Zoe and Sam Laiz and learns her Chinese symbols and numbers. Zoe and Sam's mother, Jana, is a China scholar; their father, Joe, is Filipino- American. Although Joe is the one in the family with the Chinese genes, Jana - a nice Jewish girl from New York City - is the one who knows the language. When I asked her to teach Lily, she decided it was time that her own kids, age 4 and 7, also learn Chinese.

And no one is more delighted with these classes than Lily! She loves her lessons, loves the Laiz kids, and loves teaching her parents what she's learned. Last week, she taught her best friend Charlotte, to count to 10 in Chinese. Charlotte was thrilled. Now, instead of being different, Lily sees herself as special. And for one hour each week, the Chinese side of her is celebrated. That she is joined by two other children with Asian features is an added plus.

Will Lily stick with the program? Will she turn around two years from now and say, "I don't want to study Chinese." Perhaps. But for now the foundation is being laid. I am giving my daughter the tools with which she will build her identity. While the language may fade, the self-esteem will remain. And my daughter will march proudly into her life.