I had an interesting little encounter at the library this afternoon.
We were at the desk checking out our books. There was a Chinese couple and their toddler daughter at the desk next to the one where we were being helped. I had noticed them together earlier in the children's section when we were choosing books. Their daughter was so cute, about Gwen's size, with her hair pulled back into a little ponytail.
Gwen was playing around, waiting for me, and walked over toward them. The woman looked at her, and then at me, and then asked me how old Gwen was. I told them, and then asked about their daughter's age. She asked me if Gwen was mine, and it seemed to catch her husband's attention when I answered that she was indeed mine.
"Does she speak Chinese?" he asked.
If it had been anyone other than a Chinese person asking that question, I would have chuckled to myself. Of course she doesn't speak Chinese. It's not like they come programmed or something.
But because a
Chinese person asked me, a very
WASP looking person, about whether my Chinese daughter spoke Chinese or not, I felt a tiny bit guilty admitting that she did not speak her native language. It is, after all, the language of her birth. Perhaps she should speak it. But how can she know it, living in our household with non-Chinese speaking parents?
She could know it, I suppose, if we were making very monumental efforts to learn it ourselves and teach it to her. But we aren't, at least not right now. Someday we may. Someday she may want to learn. Should we teach it sooner rather than later? How important is it for a Chinese American to know Chinese? I don't know.
I do know that she is our daughter, and we fit together, Chinese and WASP. That's all I know now. Hopefully the language question will be answered in time, hopefully by Gwen herself.
Bravo, boys! Great stick tricks!
