I am....................

When I was growing up, I had the luxury of living in a fairly culturally-eclectic household. It was the 70’s and immigration had mostly been limited to Europeans. The Chinese Exclusion Act had banned any Asian immigrants from 1923-1947, and it was still a novelty to see Chinese people in Toronto neighbourhoods. They’d come by our home and wonder if we ate with chopsticks and would ask how to use them. Sometimes they would look in our backyards, thinking we had filled in the pool in place of a rice paddy.

Well, it really wasn’t like that, but there were some major cultural things that made us stand out in the community.

My best friend was this sweet beautiful Czech/German girl whom I met on the monkey bars in the park across the street. I was 3 and she was 4. She was a Tom-boy and I was a blossoming faggot. We were best friends for many years, and hung out all the time. This post isn’t about her, but her family welcomed me into their home and showed me what White folk did on a daily basis, and if not for them, I would likely be blowing my nose on a sidewalk these days, by plugging one nostril and blowing hard through the other.

In my home, the mix of cultural and ethnic backgrounds was fairly unique. My dad was born in Shanghai, China, but moved to Taiwan before the Cultural Revolution. He was a strong disciplinarian with a Mandarin Chinese accent. My mum, was born and raised in Calcutta India, raised in a British colony and had an Anglo-Indian accent. My father spoke Mandarin to my mother, Shanghainese to his parents, and English or Mandarin to us. My mum spoke the same, but also spoke a dialect called Hakka to my brother and I. When we went out with their friends or to a restaurant, they would speak Cantonese. It made for an interesting childhood, and I still get words mixed up in different languages.

The food in our home was always Fusion. Bullocks to those new-wave fusion chefs who think they were so inventive and creative in culinary design - we were doing it back in the 70’s. Everything we ate, had an Asian or Indian flair to it. Neighbourhood BBQ’s were always interesting, because we would have Tandoori chicken or spicy BBQ chicken wings – way before wings were considered normal to eat.

The differences certainly made life interesting. We never had desserts after dinner. Fruits were dessert, and the occassonal bag of chips or jello were a treat. So, when I went over to my friends place across the street and looked in her mothers’ cupboards, I was dumbfounded to see things like fruit roll-ups, beef jerky, candies, cookies, Kraft Dinner, Pogo sticks etc. In contrast, our cupboards were stocked to the rafters with dried fish, dried squid, salty preserved prunes, Thousand year old duck eggs, and Chinese preserved sausages.

Thousand Year Old Duck Eggs

When we had our White Canadian friends over, we didn’t have much choice in what we could offer. Honestly, pickled fish, sea cucumber or duck eggs on toast aren't something your average White kid is gonna want to chow down on, so over the years Mum began to introduce new and fascinating things into our pantry that were a little more appetizing for the neighbourhood kids. Popsicles , pop and Premium crackers with cheese or peanut butter became the staple around our home.

Food wasn't the only thing different. I would often observe my friends talking back to their parents or ignoring them, and was completely flabbergasted that their parents didn't smack them across the side of their heads. In my household, if I refused to take my arms off the table, my Dads' chopsticks would turn from Culinary utensil into a "flying Beat your ass silly" weapon. I still can't believe how fast his hands moved. He'd be picking a slice of gelatinous ducks egg off a plate one second, the next, the chopstick would be leaving a red nasty mark on my hand for having disobeyed his rules.

Asian parents really have no qualms about disciplining their kids. This may seem like an over-generalisation, but in Asian culture, respect, honour, family and obediency are tantamount. If one fails any of these, their ass is grass. Simple as that. When I got in trouble, I knew what was coming. I simply wasn't intelligent enough to avoid it. And if I had the gall to speak up and say something back, it was like watching a Phoenix rise from the ashes. My fathers eyes would slant and his face would turn a beet red. You just either ran and screamed like a girl, or you just stood there and took the fury that you brought upon yourself.

When I think about it now, globalization and multiculturalism have really made some major strides. Growing up in the 70's as a Chinese kid was pretty cool, because you were the first real wave of new Asian immigrants in a long time. It was the beginning of multiculturalism and of acceptance, and though there were many many episodes where I wanted to be invisible, and not stand out, I also am thankful for what it has taught me. I was experiencing the world as it changed, as it accepted people. My perspective and identity have been shaped by each of those experiences, be they good or bad. I have ingrained in me a sense of belonging and diversity that far exceeds simply being Asian, gay, Mandarin, Shanghainese, Hakka or Indian. I am all of these things, proudly wrapped in one phrase...

I am Canadian