Hot dog nuggets

One of my most memorable fights with my mom featured Nathan's hot dog nuggets.  Sixteen of them.  You know, those that look like miniature corndogs, but without the sticks.  They came in a green and yellow paper box with a flimsy cut-out latch, the kind that never kept the box properly closed.

I picked them up at Nathan's in the Long Island Railroad terminal in Penn Station on my way home from work.  I was in my early 20s, living with my parents in Long Island, and working as a paralegal at a law firm in midtown Manhattan. On the nights I worked late, the firm allowed me a $15 stipend for dinner.  On this night, instead of buying dinner while I was working, I waited until I got to the train station to get the hot dog nuggets.

I remember thinking that it would a nice treat for my mom.  Just a little something to change her daily routine.  My parents worked late hours at their dry cleaners and never ate out.  Every other weekend, my mom cooked a vat of chicken wings in hot sauce and packed six at a time in foil.  She piled them in the top shelf of the freezer, and every morning on their way out to work, she threw one into her bag.  That and rice was their lunch, day in and day out.  Three chicken wings and a small tubberware of rice.

I felt guilty that I could go out and eat whatever I wanted for lunch.  Sometimes I went down to the corner deli and picked up a corned beef sandwich.  Or to the gourmet pizzeria down on Lexington for a slice of pizza. Or some giant sized California rolls from the Korean fruit stand/buffet counter on 52nd and 3rd. Many times, the attorneys I worked with took me out with them when they grabbed sushi or udon.  They treated me like their little sister and generously picked up the bill whenever we ate together.    

My mom’s life was very different from mine.  Once in a while, she wondered what it would be like to have a normal life.

"Wouldn't it be nice to grab a cup of coffee and walk around the neighborhood – or on the beach?" she would say.  The first time I heard her say it, I was shocked by the modesty of her wish.  I encouraged her to get her cup of coffee whenever she wished, even though I knew that she and my dad saved every quarter they earned and hardly had time to roam around the neighborhood when they worked the long hours they did.

Because they didn't have time to explore the world as I did, I often found myself trying to bring as much of the outside world into our home as I could.  To my mom who loved to eat, food was the proxy for the outside world – encapsulating cultures and histories and human differences in bite sized portions.  I brought them Thai takeout so that they could try pad thai and coconut curry.  On another occasion, I picked up some brioche by Macy's in Herald Square.  Or an extra order of linguine when I met with a friend at an Italian restaurant.   Just watching her eat my offerings appeased some of my guilt.

So on this night, I happily brought the hot dog nuggets home through the 45 minute train ride to Port Washington and the ten minute drive from the train station to my parents’ home.  When I arrived, my parents were already in bed, so I stuck them in the fridge for my mom to find them in the morning. 

When I woke up around 5:30 in the morning, I heard my parents rustling in the kitchen.  I rushed up the stairs to point out the bag of nuggets so that my mom could pack them with her lunch.   As I entered the kitchen, I saw her putting the nuggets into a Ziploc plastic bag.

“Hi, Mom,” I said.  “I got those last night so you could take them as a snack.”

She nodded and said, “I figured you must have gotten them.”

“You can have it as a snack today,” I said.

Without raising her head, she said, “I’ll just give them to your brother so that he eats something for breakfast.” 

As soon as she said that, I felt myself boiling up, and the $11 and change that I had spent for these hot dog nuggets suddenly seemed like a huge sacrifice. 

“What are you talking about?  I got them for you!”  I said.

She just brushed me aside and said, “Your brother never eats breakfast.  He should eat something.”

I felt tears coming into my eyes, even as foolish as it appeared even to myself.  They were just hot dog nuggets.  Why did I care so much?  But I did care.  I cared that I had not eaten my own dinner the night before to bring this little snack for my mom.  I cared that I had bought them for my mom, not my brother.  I cared that my brother, who also worked in Midtown, could stop by Nathan’s anytime he wanted to, and my mom couldn’t.  And I cared that my mom thought nothing of taking my little gift to her and passing it onto her son. 

I don’t remember what happened next.  I think I screamed and stomped down the stairs.  And I distinctly remember my brother eating my hot dog nuggets innocently as we took the train together into work that morning.   

A few years after that, I was shopping at King Kullen with my mom and my sister.  It must have been during a summer when I was visiting from law school.  I don’t remember how the conversation came up, but I remember my sister and I accusing our mom of treating us differently from our brother.  

“You’ve always treated us differently, just because he’s a boy,” I said. 

We gave her examples of the disparity we faced as we were growing up.  How our brother always got a whole portion of whatever we were eating while the two girls had to share one – after being told that we had to share “because we were girls” – and how our brother always got to stay out late when we weren’t even allowed to go out in the first place.

My mom looked at us with a surprised look on her face and said, “I don’t do that.  I treat all of you the same.  I don’t think boys are any more special than girls.  You know how happy I am that I have daughters.”

I listened to my mother and could not believe that she did not see the bias in her own behavior.  How could she not see it, when it was so blatant, and how could she deny it with a straight face?  And then I thought of her upbringing in a family of four daughters and one son.  The one son who received all of the numerous parcels of family land after the parents passed away.  The precious one.   

After pausing for a few seconds, she continued, “If I ever treat you differently, you should just tell me right then so that I stop doing it.”

When I called them about a month ago to let them know that the baby we are expecting is a boy, I listened carefully to their reactions.  My dad, as I expected, was delighted with the news.

“A boy!  Oh, my.  Good job.  Job well done…”

My mom, on the other hand, just said, “Oh, ok.  As long as he’s healthy…”

I was relieved that she didn’t betray any bias. 

And I wondered what kind of bias I would bring with me into the next generation.  What would my children see that I don’t see?  And would I be defending myself against my children, trying to explain how the world differed when I was growing up?  Would they understand if I try to explain that it’s the world that changed around me?  

- Shinyung

Comments

[Highbrow]

My dad does this thing where as soon as we present him with a gift, say a golf shirt, he says, "Oh baaary nice. Thank you. Jae you wanna?" immediately offering the gift to my brother. So I totally get your frustration with the hot dog nugget situation!

But I think it's less about gender bias and more about how that generation moved to a strange land with a strange language and worked their, often well educated, fingers to the bone all for the future benefit of their children. Our parents lived for us, which we know and is why we feel so much of that guilt you talked about. So sure, my dad offered the clothes off his back to my brother and yes it was because he was the only boy - he's obviously not going to expect his precious daughters to wear oversized men's clothing. In the same respect, if my older sister had brought home a tasty 'exotic' treat for my mum, my mother probably would put it in a ziploc bag so that I could eat it for breakfast when I woke up because I never eat breakfast.

[papa2hapa]

My parents truly believe they never showed any bias between me or my brother. However, even my brother said he was treated more fairly. I think it's natural for parents to unconsciously reveal a bias. Oh, for some Nathan's nuggets today.

[Mary]

Thanks for sharing your nugget story. How true that is!!

I'm not a blogger but here's a bit about me: I was born in Taegu and immigrated to the US when I was 4. Have been here ever since. I'm the oldest daughter of 3 kids (have a younger sister and a little bro.) Just got married to a white American. My sis married an Australian. Our parents have been supportive through our relationships and weddings, etc. al.

So my question for you ladies is this. I feel like as a newlywed and now 30-something, I've reached a different chapter in the relationship with my parents. Do you kimchi mamas live within close proximity to your parents? And if so, how often do you see them? How do you bond with them? Now that I have my 'own' family (no kids yet) I'm struggling to....bond with my parents. There is this inherent guilt to see them all the time i.e. weekends. They don't say anything but it's indirectly implied and god knows I feel it whether they say it or not. (And I admit it's prob all in my head.) It makes me angry that my parents don't know how to 'have fun' and make the most of their time together - without me or the fam - to travel and sightsee, blah blah - the stuff that retired white parents seem to love to do. Perhaps I'm making a mountain out of a molehill. But ever since I got married, I've been going through this cultural identity crisis and would like to know what your experiences are when you fly the coop as a 1.5 generation KA kid. Thanks much. Mary

[Jae Young]

Hum, interesting story. I have to say, my parents, as sexist as they can be, are remarkably even-handed in their treatment of myself and my two younger brothers. If anything, they are the hardest on me, because I'm the eldest. They don't necessarily spoil my brothers more than me because they are males. My brothers are also forced to wash dishes and clean tables, to the point that the extended family freaks out at how naturally they do it.

I've already heard the alternative philosophy that one must spoil girls so they are princess-y enough to seek out rich husbands that will keep them in the appropriate lifestyle. It sounds just fucked up enough to be true, to be honest. My mother tells me that she sometimes wish she had done this with me, snerk. Oh, Korean parents.

(I think I have already wished congratulations, but congratulations on the baby.)

[Asianmommy]

It's funny sometimes the memories that we carry with us. I think we all have memories such as this, where the inequities seem so unfair. Hopefully things will improve with each generation.

[Karen the Californian]

@Mary: Congratulations on your wedding. I've got no advice for you, just my own experiences. The day I married, 10 years ago in my mid-20s, was the day I finally left home. I lived at home even through college. After our wedding, I joined my husband all the way across to the other side of the country and lived in that area for 7 years. With my parents on the west coast and myself in the midwest, we ended up seeing each other about once or twice a year, I think. Those first few years were the hardest because there was the whole adjustment to a new home, a new environment, new friends, while also adjusting to the loss of everything that was familiar to me.

I remember during the first year or two, there was one thing my mom did to me that taught me that the husband-wife bond must be stronger than the parent-child bond -- after an argument (I can't remember what it was about anymore) I called home and told my mom about the butthead I married. My mom went and took his side! I was flabbergasted, but at the same time, strangely enough, I was comforted by her wisdom that husband-wife squabbles should be kept between husband and wife. Don't involve the parents, or they may side with the wrong spouse. And that taught me to ever call home and complain again about my husband, who, in all fairness, is a very loving, very reasonable man. (Except sometimes when he acts like a butthead.)

After a while it got easier and more normal. And then we had kids. And once that happened, I suddenly needed to be back in my home state. Heck, I would've been happy back anywhere in my home time zone. Thankfully we were able to return to the west coast when our second baby was 2.5 months old.

As far as cultural identity, it wasn't so much an issue for me since I married a 1.5-er like me. His experience is somewhat different from mine, but we both came from Korea at a somewhat young age, so I didn't feel like there was too much of a pull away from my own identity. The only identity that I felt was being taken away was my Californian identity, and that was thankfully restored by the move back!

[R]

Same story -- brother was the only boy in a family of 4 kids. Yes, he got preferential treatment. No, my parents really don't see it, to this day, BUT, they do now see that boys aren't better than girls as adults, cause my sisters and I check in on our parents, try to take them to places, invite them to stay with us (even though they drive me nuts within 10 minutes of their arrival), while my brother is oblivious to such parental needs, and rely on his wife to take care of all those things. My mom recently said that daughters are better because they know the hears of their moms'. In hindsight, I feel like being left to my own devices (I'm the youngest), has made me more independent, stronger, and determined, than my brother who is lazier and will wait till something is done for him rather than taking the initiative himself - a product, dare I say, from his up-bringing where parents and older sisters did everything for him. That doesn't mean I "thank" my parents for treating us differently, but that we are a product of our up-bringing. I now have two kids: boy and a girl, and my hubbie (British) and I are teaching our 4yr old son how to cook. He'll learn how to do laundry and clean. Likewise, my daughter will be self-sufficient as well (I hope). As 1.5-2nd generation parents, we can do things differently. My parents now don't expect much from my brother. How sad.

[jiji]

Similiar thing happened in my family. 2 girls and a boy. My brother was treated differently. I thinks that's an asian thing (?). Boys are more important than girls. My sister and I take care of my parents as much as we could. But my brother can not even take care of himself even this day (not to mention he is the eldest child in the family). It's a sad thing to talk about. Because he is our brother and we love him very much.
As for my parents, they think they treated us same. However my mom did say that "I wish I had 3 girls so I don't have to worry anymore, I can just enjoy my retirement years". She loves him so much. But she is tired of worrying about him. She is old too.

[JG1]

Funny how this so mirrors the family I was brought up in. My grandmother was Amish and in that culture men are always given preference. So although growing up my dad and us kids were not Amish the tradition lived on. Men are served first at the table, the largest best portions. Men had far more freedom and are allowed to do more while the women and girls take care of and clean up after the men and boys. My brothers were always allowed to do more, at an earlier age then us girls. Now Im married to the only son, the only child for that matter, of my K-MIL. He's already shown bias in saying some things are ok for our son and not our daughters. As for me, I still serve out the best and largest portions to my husband, then the kids, and me last. If there is none left, well too bad for me, I just won't have any. Some things are just too ingrained.

[gnsc47]

I should say... I was raised as that princess-y type daughter, constantly called "gong-ju" by my parents, and always felt a bit guilty that I was treated so much better than my older brother. Yes, I was the baby in the house - in fact a cry baby whose tears start falling even before my parents noticed I did something naughty. However, being educators themselves, my parents+grandparents DID make me help out with the chores around the house as well as help out with "guy's stuff" too, like changing tires, assemblying furniture, fixing toilets, etc. My family are socially awkward and stubborn, and that may be why my parents were so not affected by the social custom of their times (one has to be not aware of his or her social surrounding to be socially awkward).
One main stream of thought about Asian culture and Asian parents is that they treat sons and daughters differently. So naturally, I thought my family was the weird one, until my mom appropriately pointed out, not too long ago, that a lot of my parents' friends did and still do treat their daughters in an unbiased way.

Another sign that a daughter may be better than a son: when my brother got married, my parents considered him "lost," that his family will always be closer to his wife's side of the family than our family. That's how the world really works, don't you think?

[Grace]

Your story really touched me. The part where your mom wondered about how it would be to live a normal life made me cry. It made me think of the sacrifices my parents made for me and my brother.

My situation was a little different because my parents doted and disciplined us essentially the same. It was our extended family that treated us differently. My brother was the only boy in our family and always got special treatment. Since I was the sister of the only boy, I was the 2nd favorite. It was ridiculous, but luckily my girl cousins were not the jealous types.