I fell in love with the minister's son the winter I turned fourteen. He was not Chinese, but as white as Mary in themanger. For Christmas I prayed for this blond-haired boy, Robert, and a slim new American nose.When I found out that my parents had invited the minister's family over for Christmas Eve dinner, I cried. Whatwould Robert think of our shabby Chinese Christmas? What would he think of our noisy Chinese relatives wholacked proper American manners? What terrible disappointment would he feel upon seeing not a roasted turkey andsweet potatoes but Chinese food?
On Christmas Eve I saw that my mother had outdone herself in creating a strange menu. She was pullingblack veins out of the backs of fleshy prawns. The kitchen was littered with appalling mounds of raw food: A slimyrock cod with bulging eyes that pleaded not to be thrown into a pan of hot oil. Tofu, which looked like stacked wedgesof rubbery white sponges. A bowl soaking dried fungus back to life. A plate of squid, their backs crisscrossed withknife markings so they resembled bicycle tires.
And then they arrived – the minister's family and all my relatives in a clamor of doorbells and rumpledChristmas packages. Robert grunted hello, and I pretended he was not worthy of existence. Dinner threw me deeper into despair. My relatives licked the ends of their chopsticks and reached across the table, dipping them into the dozen or so plates of food. Robert and his family waited patiently for platters to be passed to them. My relatives murmured with pleasure when my mother brought out the whole steamed fish. Robert grimaced. Then my father poked his chopsticks just below the fish eye and plucked out the soft meat. "Amy, your favorite," he said, offering me the tender fish cheek. I wanted to disappear.
At the end of the meal my father leaned back and belched loudly, thanking my mother for her fine cooking. "It'sa polite Chinese custom to show you are satisfied," explained my father to our astonished guests. Robert waslooking down at his plate with a reddened face. The minister managed to muster up a quiet burp. I was stunned intosilence for the rest of the night.
After everyone had gone, my mother said to me, "You want to be the same as American girls on the outside."She handed me an early gift. It was a miniskirt in beige tweed. "But inside you must always be Chinese. You mustbe proud you are different. Your only shame is to have shame."
And even though I didn't agree with her then, I knew that she understood how much I had suffered during theevening's dinner. It wasn't until many year later – long after I had gotten over my crush on Robert – that I was able tofully appreciate her lesson and the true purpose behind our particular menu. For Christmas Eve that year, she hadchosen all my favorite foods.taken from: http://redroom.com/member/amytan/writing/fishcheeks