The Chinese American with no Chinese name

I walked to the customs agent counter at Beijing International Airport and without thinking handed my passport to the customs agent. Then, without thinking, he did his thing with my passport. It was supposed to be a smooth transaction, but he broke the silence when he looked up and asked if I still use my Chinese name in America. With a blank look on my face, I started to consider giving him an answer that he would like to hear, but he didn’t give me enough time to think and answered for me that I shouldn’t use my Chinese name anymore. They returned my passport with a smile. He then wished me a safe journey and directed me to the three long security checkpoints reserved for US-bound passengers. As I stood in line, I thought of my long-lost Chinese name and how detached I am from my chinese name…

Born in 1969 in communist China, my parents quickly decided to name me after something that had something to do with Chairman Mao. It’s not that they thought of him as a great leader, but rather out of fear. They chose a little-known poem by Mao, which allowed them to show enough dedication to Mao without being reminded of too much. My name was the first character of the three-character title of this poem. (They actually needed to have three children to qualify for Mao’s poem, but they stopped at two. My sister’s name was the second character in the title, but hers is better known.) They clearly went too far with their search, not only did most people not correctly associate my name with Chairman Mao, but most people simply don’t know the character that my name is.

As a child in China, I was always amazed that someone could pronounce my name correctly without being told first. I considered anyone who knew my name to be certainly the most learned and intelligent. Anyway, I was often asked how I got such a little known character as a name and I politely repeated the origin of my name, including that I only have one brother and that I don’t really know the poem itself, just the title. I also endured numerous longer and more colorful dialogues about my name between my mother and other curious people. From time to time, my parents would apologize and explain that my name was chosen to protect me, but I’m sure my name didn’t protect me even once when I got into trouble.

I arrived in America just in time to start eighth grade, and by then my Chinese name had been phonetically “translated” into English. Now it really doesn’t sound anything like my name, even when I say it. On quite a few occasions, I didn’t realize when someone was calling me. One day, my grandmother suggested to me that since I now live in the United States, it would be easier to have an English name. I thought that was an excellent idea. The first name she suggested was “Jenny”, and I said that was fine. Finally, I had a name that is simple, unassuming, and best of all, doesn’t draw attention to itself.

When I got married, since my husband is not Chinese, I realized that I would lose some of my ethnic identity if I changed my last name, but I decided to change my last name anyway. The logic was simple: I wanted to have the same last name as my future children so that no one would confuse me with their nanny. I kept my maiden name as my middle name. I like my birth name. Most of the time a middle name is not required, so on paper my name does not suggest that I am Chinese American.

In real life, I’m a proud Chinese-American, I might add. I speak fluent written and spoken Chinese. My favorite carb is rice, in fact it’s pretty much the only carb I like. I am also an avid green tea drinker, and rarely miss an opportunity to order stinky tofu if my dining partner can tolerate or share it. After having children of my own, it became even more important to accept being Chinese. I wanted to pass on the great Chinese heritage and values ​​to my children. They are taught to be respectful and obedient to their teachers at school, and that being smart and getting good grades is a great source of pride, and yes! math and science are more important than the liberal arts.

I also went to great lengths to teach my children to speak Mandarin Chinese fluently in our predominantly English-speaking home. We were lucky enough to afford the clever trick of hiring a full-time Chinese-speaking nanny for our children for 6 years. I read Chinese children’s books to my children almost religiously every night. Both of my children were given Chinese names (some that I like) in addition to the English ones and we use their Chinese names at home. We celebrate every major Chinese holiday, and for Chinese New Year, I even host a celebration that can rival Christmas. Everyone dresses up in their beautiful Chinese silk suits on New Year’s Day, I set up a nice display of treats on our table for the kids to enjoy, and instead of the more traditional treats, I dress mine up in gold-wrapped chocolate coins , and snacks they like. After all, one has to enjoy the delicacies to appreciate the holidays. And, of course, the red envelopes, which they appreciate more and more each year. Someday, I think they’ll like it better than Christmas presents. I just have to be very generous with your red envelopes. But the most festive part of our Chinese New Year celebration is our canceled pilgrimage to my parents’ house. Where they learn that Chinese New Year is a big family celebration mixed with lots of food and more red envelopes for the kids. I tell them that they are lucky to have more Christmas celebrations than most of their friends, because they are Chinese.

And I’m also lucky to be Chinese-American. Because I fully embrace the benefits of two great cultures. Even without a Chinese name.