My Chinese Wife

This post is written in love. I love my wife. I love my wife. I’m writing only because I love the irony.

Every year during the Lunar New Year, or as I called it all my life, Chinese New Year celebration, we enter banquet season. My mother’s side of the family holds a lavish banquet and then on my father’s side we take a trip to San Francisco for two lavish banquets.

This is the time of year that I do some sort of Chinese/Asian thing. This is also the time, my Caucasian wife dives deep into my culture. For the rest of the year, I’m basically an Asian WASP or AASP. My wife mingles with my Chinese family, she learns a new Chinese words and she tries to be as Chinese as possible. I don’t even up this amount of effort into the event.

This year’s “I’m Chinese” adventure is to talk about Chinese New Year to my daughter’s elementary school class and distribute red envelopes to all the kids. This is the ironic part. My wife is not Chinese and neither is my daughter. It was then I realized I’m married to “Lucy.”