Bubble Face

This is my Heritage Paper... a story that reveals some of my family's values... hope u enjoy reading it!

“Hey Uncle Wally! How’s golf going?”
“Oh my gosh, is that you Uncle KK? You’ve gotten so handsome!”
I love our Kop family (mom-side) reunions! There is so much excitement; the latest gossips are spread, the newest family stories are told. It’s a great time for all of our families and relatives, from all over the states, to come together once every two years to catch up on old times. The one thing I always look forward to the most is talking story with my Popo (grandma). Before she moved last year to China, we were tight as knots. We cooked dumplings together, rode the bus together, and we even shopped together. Those were fun times back then, when I could just pick up a phone and talk to my popo anytime I wanted to. Now, our only communication outlet was the Kop family reunion.
“So, how’ve you been Popo? Is anything new?”
“I’ve been getting around. My back has been aching for a while now, so I can’t walk as much… it must be old age.”
“What are you talking about? You’ve still got plenty of healthy years ahead.”
“Ehh, you’re just trying to make me feel better. You know, ever since I moved away, I’ve started to recall past memories of my life here in Hawai’i. You and your mother looked so alike when you were a baby, same big bug-eyed face. I still remember flying up to Japan just to visit you when you were born. Whenever I tried to carry you, all you would do was cry, cry, cry. ‘Wah. Wah,’ I thought there was something wrong with you, but you were just hungry all the time. You had an appetite of a lion, always eating. By the age of 4, you would eat beef stew, cantaloupe, rice, cheerios… anything, really. Unlike your mom, she was a poor eater.”
“Really?”
“Yah. Your mom, she wouldn’t want to eat anything. I made her chow mein. No eat. I shredded duck into small bite size pieces for her. No touch. She would not consume anything on her plate unless it was something to her liking. Picky, picky, picky, that girl I tell you. All she did was waste food… you should never waste anything, especially if it’s still edible. Did I tell you that time when your mom would pretend to dine on her meals?”
“What? How’d she do that? You never told me that story.”
“I thought I did… maybe that was your dad. Anyways, during your mom’s ‘picky eater’ phase, I had to make her sit in her highchair until she finished off every last bit of food. She was getting so skinny, that I felt obligated to fatten her up! She would cry for hours. Meals turned into never-ending nightmares! Then, one night I decided to try a new recipe Fran gave me, Sweet sour pork chops with bitter melon. Oh, it was delicious! Everyone seemed to like it, even your mom. First she sniffed it. Then, after it got the scent seal of approval, she stuffed all of it into her mouth until it was all gone. That night, there was no screaming or yelling. But then we noticed sometime after dinner, two little bulges sticking out on the sides of your mom’s mouth. Her cheeks were kinda bloated like two tiny bubbles. So, your Kung Kung (grandpa) and I induced her to open up her mouth to check what was being concealed, and guess what we found? Snuggly hiding inside of her cheek was her dinner, all smushed up and blanketed in her saliva.”
“Ewww… that’s so gross! What did you guys do next?”
“We pried out that pork from her mouth with a fork, of course. She refused to chew it down! Stubborn child… and then a week later, she decided to stuff her cheeks again, but this time with broccoli. Uhuh… that girl gave me a headache. She even wen spit out all of the broccoli pieces from her mouth and onto the carpet. I was ready to give her one licken with the fly swatter, but then, out of no where, she began to pound on her chest rapidly, like one ape in the jungle. I thought she was just acting up, but after a few seconds, she began to let out dry gasps of air from her lips. That dummy, she made herself choke on broccoli! So, instinctively, I wrapped my arms around her chest from her back side, made my right hand into a fist, and started to pound my hands against her chest. I was eventually able to get her to cough up that piece of broccoli, but what a workout! I’m not joking… I was sweaten like one pig, just trying to get that sucka out of her throat.”
“Wow! No wonder my mom never cooks broccoli.”
“Hoh, after that instance, your mother never played with her food again and when I told her to eat, she ate, just like one good girl should. But I tell you. Before, she would hold food in her mouth for hours, until Kung Kung and I made her spit it out. Something was seriously wrong with that child, I tell you.”

I could never understand why my mom was so hardheaded about us finishing our meals at dinnertime, or why she would always seem irked whenever we didn’t eat what was given to us. But after hearing my Popo’s story, I finally realized why. My mom grew up in an environment where no food was wasted. Food was money. You weren’t allowed to fuss; you had to just eat what you were given or else starve. It never occurred to me how lucky I was to be given such a great mom that cooked all of my favorite kinds of food. Now, whenever my mom says, “Don’t play with your food,” or, “Make sure to chew all of your food before swallowing,” I’ll make sure to do as she says, or else the same ‘bachie’ incident may happen to me too.