Hey, you, or me. This is you, or me, forty years later. You, and me, we, are presently ancient, old, short of being cadavers. And we are here to tell us, in our vast quantity of acquired knowledge and wisdom, that we shouldn’t have wasted any time resisting the cultural lessons that Mommy and Daddy were laying on us and fretting about the stupid stuff.

How stupid, we ask ourselves? Well….for one thing….

…pretty sure Velveeta isn’t food of the Gods. So you shouldn’t have thrown a fit in the IGA dairy aisle coercing Mommy to buy the whole two pound rectangle of rubbery goo. Mommy is smart, she knew it wasn’t a food! Plus, she’s an incredible chef, who’s always up on the latest famous chef or new technique in the kitchen. So no, you should appreciate that she did not agree to feed you a hotdog every day of your second grade.

I know it was hard coming from another country and that you just wanted to be like all the other kids, to fit in. Remember praying to be blonde? All those times in the tub and in bed where you rubbed your arms so hard, wishing that friction would give you arm hairs. 

Well, so now you, me, we know that being blonde isn’t everything, right? And people actually PAY to get shaved, waxed, or lasered to be hairless! Even some men want to be hairless now. We should be really glad that our skin is as smooth as a baby’s butt.

Now, for some of the more important lessons, tsk, shame! 

You should cringe at yourself every time you thought your parents were embarrassing. You should be thankful that they made you speak Vietnamese at home. Those early Saturday morning lessons, which you HATED, when you had to read Vietnamese out loud to Daddy, have proven to be entirely useful, for now, when you are at a nail place, and the workers can’t figure out where you’re from, you act oblivious and stay quiet, but you’re catching every word that they are saying. You’re like a spy, eavesdropping. And sometimes, when there was an unkind thing said about you, you catch them by surprise as you burst into your Vietnamese and watch them just shit their pants. You are so proud that you are somewhat fluent in your birth language.

You should be able to laugh now at how our parents made us stay home on weekends “to watch the house” instead of carousing and cavorting with our classmates. Waiting and watching to defend our home against communists or burglars was uneventful. 

Carousing and cavorting in Carbondale was also uneventful. The culture shock of landing in the middle of nowhere in the corn belt DID make us scratch our head and question Daddy’s decision to uproot us. Sure, it was a university town but there was nothing else redeeming about the place until the grand opening of the Walmart. Boy, was that a special day! Mayor showed up, cut the red ribbon. 

You should really appreciate how Daddy always planned trips to interesting places, immersed us into cultural and global events, performances, and museums so that we wouldn’t grow up to be total rubes. 

You should be thankful that your parents were strict with you and your siblings because, come to find out much later, Carbondale was the gateway for drugs crisscrossing the country because of its location smack in the belly button of America. You are thankful you are not a meth head and you have all your teeth.

You should be super grateful that you know of your history, your culture, your SELF, why you are the way you are. And it’s because Mommy and Daddy made every effort to retain their culture, even in their adopted land. And that’s nothing to be embarrassed about.

So go apologize to them and stop acting so high falutin’, cos you don’t know everything.

And throw out the Velveeta.