Crazy moms bring up sane children.

The picture on the right is a screen shot from The Joy Luck Club (1993), a  movie based on the novel by Amy Tan. The book depicts four Chinese women and their journeys to the US as well as the culture disconnect they experience from their American-born daughters.

I remember seeing this movie when I was in elementary school, thinking, "Oh my God, all Asian moms are crazy. I knew it." I felt a sense of relief--camaraderie even--with all the misguided and culturally frustrated Asian American children growing up with neurotic Asian mothers.

My next encounter with The Joy Luck Club occurred during my senior year of high school when I read the novel for Advanced Placement Literature. I read every word thoroughly, annotating each page with questions and revelations. By the time I finished it, the front cover had fallen off and the binding unglued from excessive bending. Something about reading instead of watching at this older age allowed the plots to resonate much stronger with me. I remember peering over at my mom during reading breaks, wondering about her story to America and the traumatic event she left behind. "There must've been some trauma," I thought, "How else would she have turned out so psychotically strict? Amy Tan knows."

*****

My grandaunt's wake took place last night. After the prayer service were the eulogies from her children. My uncle was last to take the podium, telling a poignant tale of his dynamic relationship with his mother in his quiet, raspy voice. While I can't capture every perfectly stated word or poised pause he conveyed in the eulogy, I'll do my best to share what I can from my memory.

Not too long ago, Michael Jackson, arguably the greatest entertainer of all time, passed away. I remember watching the news and listening to an interview with one of his children. "My dad is the greatest dad in the world," he said. The child must've been around ten or twelve years old. I wondered what that all meant--what exactly is "the greatest dad in the world" and what kind of understanding does a child have about the greatness of his or her parents?

I thought about my own relationship with my parents, my own relationship with my mom. I think that our perceptions of what the "greatest moms in the world" seem to us go through four stages, each marked by a certain age or accomplishment.

In the first stage, we're young children. We think the greatest moms in the world are the kind that don't make you eat your vegetables and allow you to eat candy for breakfast. We think they are the kind that play with us all day long and then have the time and energy to read us stories to bed.

The second stage occurs in the teenage years. We think the greatest moms in the world are the ones who don't nag us about our grades and don't ask us questions about our friends. They don't punish us when we arrive home too late or may not even do much punishing at all.

In the third stage, the greatest moms in the world don't meddle with our business. You see at this stage, we think we know everything. We are already well-educated and working, making our own money. We think we know better than our moms, so we want them to leave us alone and stop bothering us.

The fourth stage is when we are mature adults. I think I'm at this stage. It's at this stage when we realize that the greatest moms in the world don't do what we as their children think they should. They aren't their children's greatest friends. What's difficult about being a great mom is that they have to accept that they may do many things that their children will resent. They tend to sacrifice themselves, including approval from their children, to be the best mom they can.

Thinking back about my mom, I still don't think that she's the greatest mom in the world. I think she's better than that. I don't know if anyone can accurately describe what the greatest mom in the world would be like. What my mother has done for our family and me is beyond anything that I can ever conjure up.

I sat next to my own mother as I listened to this eulogy. I put my arm around her and leaned in closer to her, thinking about all the times we bickered about all the things that could be bickered about.

I hate to say this, but as morose deaths in the family can be, they tend to bring people together. My grandaunt was known to be the backbone of her immediate family, reminding everyone to keep in touch and bringing everyone together with her delicious cooking. In death, she brought together feuding family members as we all reunited for her funeral this morning.

Thinking about you, Lola (grandma in Tagalog),
Shopgirl.