The Strongest Form of Love

*I based this post off Arm Wrestling with My Father*

Our interactions were rudimentary. The truth is, my parents have never said they loved me or kissed me goodnight because these actions are not in their nature. Never. I think the closest they have ever come to saying something like that was when my physician had to go through a series of questions about my mental health. He asked my parents about me and I guess it led to some forced statement about how they were proud of me—that they cared for me. Our communication was and still is very minimal—even more so with my Dad than my Mom. But with the few interactions I have per day I could feel how hard it was for them to communicate, to help me, to show the love they had for me, the love that I know is there.

My parents are atypical. They are not the expected “Asian parents” who berate me to achieve high academic success. They never check my report cards. When I ask them why they tell me that they already know that I aim for As. They never forced me to go to Chinese school, to take piano lessons, violin lessons, math courses, etc. In elementary school, they only went to one of my orchestra performances and one of my band performances in middle school (I went from orchestra to band to realizing I had no interest in music—making it my own decision to quit completely). They never forced me to take the number of AP classes I am taking. They never understood my neuroticism—my need to achieve the highest on ever exam, test, quiz, assignment I do. Furthermore, compared to “typical” parents in general, they are the complete opposite. They never attend any competitions I have. They are not the eager parents signing up to volunteer. To many it may seem cold; but to me, I know it is how they are.

Every day when I come home from school, Mom always greets me warmly and offers fresh fruit. Something so fundamental—food—but not guaranteed. Mom always tells me about living during the era after the Great Famine. Mom would vividly describe how so many people died and how people were forced to eat dirt and bark from trees to subsist the pangs of hunger. Exotic fruits—mangos, kiwi, things we take for granted—were unheard of during her time. Her notion of love was providing me the variety of foods she never had. Furthermore, she shows her love through her unwavering bravery. One time we were at a hotel swimming pool where they had lap lanes. Naturally people would be kind and adjust to circle swimming to accommodate more people. However, when we entered the lanes, an old white man in his fifties began screaming at us. I strictly remember him saying: DO YOU EVEN SPEAK ENGLISH? I wanted to leave immediately, but my mom forced us to stand our ground. She did not want to concede to racism. Eventually the man left, and my mom stood victorious. Mom’s strong willed character and compassion are her forms of love. I would not give this up for another parent to simply say “I love you.”

During the late 1960s and early 1970s, Mao Zedong declared that one “privileged” youth per urban family had to be sent to farming villages to become a worker/farmer. My Dad decided to go—in effect, he was forfeiting his chances of ever going to a university. However, Dad has—and will always have—a strong conviction to achieve against all odds. Even though he did not receive a formal education, he taught himself. He became an autodidact. Instead of receiving formal preparation for the Gaokao—the National Chinese Entrance Exam that is administered only once per year and decides your future—Dad had to learn everything on his own. This spanned from Karl Marx’s communist principles to chemistry and physics. He knew that if he failed the exam, he would be stuck as a farmer for the rest of his life. When the results came back, he had nearly scored a perfect in math and sciences. His lowest score was in the communist principles—I think—and he did not even have a textbook to study for that part. He  even scored considerably higher than his brothers and sisters who stayed in the city and received an education. Dad’s desire to succeed led him to receive his Ph.D., a feat that shocked his family. Today, he occasionally asks if I need help. He was always there to answer any questions I had on my calculus homework. His hard work to provide a steady income represents his love for me. It is with the money that he earns that he can give me the strongest power humans can possess: an education. His assurance he gives me that he will be able to pay for my education, no matter how far I reach, will always be there is the epitome of love. I do not need someone to attend my competitions. I do not need someone who simply tells me “I love you.” I need my Dad because he is willing to sacrifice everything to give me the opportunities I have today.

As every day goes on, I want to tell my parents I love them. I want to tell them how happy I am. Or maybe, rather than any of this, I will find a unique way to express my love to them.