I brought someone home for Thanksgiving; someone to meet my parents. I’ve never brought anyone home to meet my family in the traditional sense. My dad is prone to giving noogies, my mom has self-diagnosed social anxiety disorder, and my sister is most certainly the 8th wonder of the world.
Though it wasn’t a member of the male species (Why? Because 3 out of 10 men in DC are gay and I don’t encounter the other 7 elusive beings), I still experienced the same apprehension and nerves I imagine people mull over when they bring someone (whom they’re sleeping with) home to meet their family.
I coached my parents on what they could and could not say, on handshakes versus hugs (hug…always hug), and to speak as slowly as possible. Putting the brakes on speech was imperative as the thus far mysterious turkey eater I brought home was Meiling, a student I teach English to as a volunteer. Meiling is from Beijing and is spending a year at the Embassy of China teaching Chinese to diplomats’ children.
A few weeks ago, Meiling had a confusing purchase issue at Ann Taylor and thought she was charged twice. I went with her to rectify what turned out to not be a double charge, and then we went out for lunch, only to learn that it was Meiling’s first visit to a restaurant in the four months she had been living in DC.
That is not ok. Not one bit. Not to a foodie or a lover of travel who believes you understand a new culture and country by way of your palette. I then made a promise to myself that I would try to show Meiling as much of the stars and stripes as I could between now and her departure (the thought of which makes me oh so sad).
Our next excursion was a Friday night at the movies to see Lars and the Real Girl. Meiling didn’t understand but a few words of the movie, though as she got off the metro train, she said she would remember the night for the rest of her life. I’m such a ladies man. Silent victory cheer.
What would a stay in the US be without a Thanksgiving celebration? Off to Baltimore, MD we go.
I met Meiling at the metro station between the embassy and my stu-stu studio so we could travel to Maryland and meet up with my sister, Julie, who would then drive us to Baltimore. On the metro ride, I taught Meiling my parents’ names. First names. She seemed floored by the concept of calling them Ellie and Aaron. I assured her that they were laid back kids and this is how they would want it to be. Meiling wrote down their names (including how to pronounce them) and kept repeating to herself, “El-E, Air-own, El-E, Air-own.” This made me giggle.
Meiling then showed me a gift she brought for my parents (she’s doing all the right things…why is she not a male who worships me?) It was a beautiful stringed craft of the animals associated with the Chinese lunar calendar. She pointed to each of the 12 animals, telling me what they were. When she got to one of the animals, she said, “Chicken? Hen?...Cock! Cock!” Then she nodded intently, satisfied that she thought of the right term, and continued on. I nearly lost it. Fast forward to her giving the gift to my parents, only eliminating the words “chicken” and “hen” from her presentation.
My sister picked up Meiling and I from the metro station. We stopped at Dunkin Donuts so I could get an egg-n-cheese croissant sandwich (had to miss breakfast to catch a Thanksgiving charity yoga class) and Julie could get a chocolate glazed donut.
For the 50 minute drive to Baltimore, Meiling peered out the car window smiling, non-stop. Sweet, sweet thing she is.
Though it wasn’t a member of the male species (Why? Because 3 out of 10 men in DC are gay and I don’t encounter the other 7 elusive beings), I still experienced the same apprehension and nerves I imagine people mull over when they bring someone (whom they’re sleeping with) home to meet their family.
I coached my parents on what they could and could not say, on handshakes versus hugs (hug…always hug), and to speak as slowly as possible. Putting the brakes on speech was imperative as the thus far mysterious turkey eater I brought home was Meiling, a student I teach English to as a volunteer. Meiling is from Beijing and is spending a year at the Embassy of China teaching Chinese to diplomats’ children.
A few weeks ago, Meiling had a confusing purchase issue at Ann Taylor and thought she was charged twice. I went with her to rectify what turned out to not be a double charge, and then we went out for lunch, only to learn that it was Meiling’s first visit to a restaurant in the four months she had been living in DC.
That is not ok. Not one bit. Not to a foodie or a lover of travel who believes you understand a new culture and country by way of your palette. I then made a promise to myself that I would try to show Meiling as much of the stars and stripes as I could between now and her departure (the thought of which makes me oh so sad).
Our next excursion was a Friday night at the movies to see Lars and the Real Girl. Meiling didn’t understand but a few words of the movie, though as she got off the metro train, she said she would remember the night for the rest of her life. I’m such a ladies man. Silent victory cheer.
What would a stay in the US be without a Thanksgiving celebration? Off to Baltimore, MD we go.
I met Meiling at the metro station between the embassy and my stu-stu studio so we could travel to Maryland and meet up with my sister, Julie, who would then drive us to Baltimore. On the metro ride, I taught Meiling my parents’ names. First names. She seemed floored by the concept of calling them Ellie and Aaron. I assured her that they were laid back kids and this is how they would want it to be. Meiling wrote down their names (including how to pronounce them) and kept repeating to herself, “El-E, Air-own, El-E, Air-own.” This made me giggle.
Meiling then showed me a gift she brought for my parents (she’s doing all the right things…why is she not a male who worships me?) It was a beautiful stringed craft of the animals associated with the Chinese lunar calendar. She pointed to each of the 12 animals, telling me what they were. When she got to one of the animals, she said, “Chicken? Hen?...Cock! Cock!” Then she nodded intently, satisfied that she thought of the right term, and continued on. I nearly lost it. Fast forward to her giving the gift to my parents, only eliminating the words “chicken” and “hen” from her presentation.
My sister picked up Meiling and I from the metro station. We stopped at Dunkin Donuts so I could get an egg-n-cheese croissant sandwich (had to miss breakfast to catch a Thanksgiving charity yoga class) and Julie could get a chocolate glazed donut.
For the 50 minute drive to Baltimore, Meiling peered out the car window smiling, non-stop. Sweet, sweet thing she is.
We arrived, and I think all felt nervous on the elevator ride up to my parents’ fourth floor condo. Dad opened the door. Meiling said, “Hi Air-own!” and shook his hand. She shook his hand…pitter, patter. Mom and Meiling hugged. Way to follow directions, Mom.
We all sat around while the turkey basted and the side dishes cooked. There was conversation and some awkward moments of silence, as to be expected. My sister then thought it a good idea to pull out old yearbooks and show Meiling embarrassing photos of me. This is so what happens in the movies. And because I cautioned my family to speak slowly, Julie said, “Look at how faaaaaaaAaaaat Jackie was.” Thanks. At least the bulk is in the past.
When Meiling looked at my sister’s senior year picture, she said, “Joo-lee, you look thin there.” You get my drift? She started it.
I wanted Meiling to get in the holiday spirit, so I handed her a bag of marshmallows and let her loose with the sweet potatoes.
Meiling topping the sweet potatoes with marshmallows.
The surface of the dish was covered (it later melted over the edges and Meiling thought she made a big mistake). There were still marshmallows left in the bag, so I told Meiling to try one.
Yeah, I was her first marshmallow.
She seemed concerned and questioned if it had to be cooked before eaten. Nope, I assured her as I stuffed one in my mouth. Meiling followed suit. “Sweeeeet,” she said with half a marshmallow sticking out of her mouth.
Meiling liked taking photos of my mom cooking.
The dinner went well, and Meiling was excited (read: jumping up and down) at being able to take photos with the family throughout the night. 
At one point, my mom was in the kitchen and I poked my head in to ask, “Mom? Do you like her?” with the hopefulness of a girl who’s brought home the man she thinks she wants to marry.
“Jackie…yes. She’s just lovely.” I smiled and bashfully went back to the dinner table, but not before turning back to ask, “Mom? Do you think she’s pretty?”
“Oh, Sweetie...she’s beautiful!” Score.
Meiling prepping the pumpkin pie.
Meiling learning how to use whipped cream.
My family and I were heading to Connecticut early the next morning, so we couldn’t have a Meiling slumber party. My mom and I took her to the train station after dinner. I went into the station with her and insisted on buying the ticket. Meiling almost decked me. Don’t ruffle my feminist (or volunteer) feathers.
I waited with her on the platform until her train arrived to make sure she got on ok. “Call me when you get back to the embassy, ok?”
“Ok, you no worry,” Meiling said.
I got in the car and my mom and I spent the ride back talking about how great Meiling is.
“Mom, can we adopt her?”
Mom: “Jackie, she’s 28 and she’s married.”
“And??”
Meiling called to let me know she arrived home, mentioning that she loved my parents and she loved Julie. In the words of my grandpa, “What am I, chopped liver?” Story of my life.
On the ride to Connecticut, I announced, “I miss Meiling.”
“Me too,” said my mom.
“Dad, do you miss her?”
“Sure,” said my dad.
“Julie??”
That one was sleeping. As soon as you put her in the car it has the same effect as when she was an infant.
So, do you think we’ll last?
1 comment:
Your thanksgiving sounds amazing, much better than mine. Looking forward to seeing you in a few weeks.
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