Chopsticks and Funerals

I have several go-to stories that I like to tell.  Chances are if you’ve ever had me as a teacher or friend, you’ve probably heard the one that involves the Chinese mother-law-to-be and chopsticks.  I recently told that Rideout Classic at a new venue:  a funeral.  My mother-in-law passed away over the recent holidays after years of battling Parkinsons.  The story is actually from the first time we ever met and, in retrospect, is pretty representative of our relationship in general.  I would tease her and she would make fun of me right back.  There was a lot of mutual respect in our relationship, I think.  

I miss her.

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2002 

Here’s the story for the record:

I flew up from Atlanta to meet my fiancee’s mother for the first time.  She was living in Taiwan at the time and so we hadn’t actually had a chance to meet yet and it was a pretty high stakes meeting for me.  I was moving out of my parent’s basement, closing down my wine importation business in Georgia to move into her old house in Massachusetts, start teaching high school, and marry her daughter.  I didn’t imagine I was exactly what she had hoped for in a Son-in-law….

She had prepared some Chinese food and I was ready to go.  I didn’t ask what it was, I just started eating and smiling.  Asking what something is before you eat it is a total noob move!  Just eat it and enjoy it.  Also, don’t ask for a fork!  So, I’m eating with chopsticks (perhaps a bit overconfidently) and talking.  Talking a lot.  Maybe a bit of nervous talking.  I don’t even remember what I was saying.  But I do remember being aware of how Irene and her mom were both sitting across from the table silently watching me eat and talk.  I felt that I was putting on a show and I was being judged.  I was actually feeling pretty good about it all when, while pausing my chopsticks halfway to my mouth so I could finish making some extremely fascinating point about making wine or something, a piece of mystery meat slowly slipped out of the weak grasp of my chopsticks.  In my memory this all happens in slow-mo:  all three pairs of eyes move to the meat slipping free and helplessly watch it fall.  The sliver of pork (?) falls right into my shirt pocket (dressing sharp for future mom-in-law!).  

Future mother-in-law’s eyes open wide and then quickly look cunningly at me, asking “Hmmm, what is this strange young man going to do now?”  I, smoothly if I do say so myself, reach back in for a new bite and eat it with evident relish.  (Gotta show you can recover from your mistakes!).  After chewing carefully and swallowing, I gently pat my shirt pocket with its unexpected cargo and lean forward, “So good – I’m saving some for later.”

Mother-in-law-to-be is clearly delighted and her eyes express her appreciation.  I interpret the sparkle in her eyes as a “Yes, this, I can work with…”

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RIP, “Wai Po”(*) and know that I will continue telling this story with glee until I am getting ready for my own funeral…

(*) Once my kids started to call her Wai-Po, I jumped on that too and no one complained...