Counting Laughs

In my memory, I can see my mother's face illuminated by the lamp in the dark kitchen of my aunt's house. It is getting late, but she licks her finger and turns the page in the old Chinese English dictionary.

"You should get some sleep, Mama," I tell her. "We have to go early tomorrow."

We were in Dallas for the National Speech and Debate tournament. I had qualified as a sophomore in high school, but I had to supply a judge in order to compete. My mom's English was, in so many words, lacking.

"I need to study," she said. She winked at me "Your mama was an excellent student. I never do things halfway."

She was right. My dad always told me that my mom would get top marks in school when she was a young girl in China. That is, when she was still able to go to school.

Because of the Cultural Revolution in the 1950s, my parents were unable to attend middle school or high school. In history books, they call my parents "the lost generation." Their younger siblings, having grown up later, when school was available, were all able to come to the United States and receive PhDs in computer science and physics. But my dad fixed air conditioning and my mom worked at a Chinese restaurant. Life had not been easy for them, who had so much potential and so little opportunity.

"It's okay, Mama," I told her. She had been assigned to judge in the humorous monologue category, where they were known to talk very fast and use jokes hard for foreigners to understand. "You can just score the competitors randomly. It's the best you can do."

"Ah, but you haven't heard my strategy yet," my mom said to me with a glint in her eyes. "I'm going to count the number of laughs that each person gets. The winner is the one who gets the most laughs!"

I couldn't help it. I smirked at her ingenious solution. My mama, tough as nails, always tried her best in any situation.

"Good idea, Mama," I said. "Does that mean you're going to sleep now?"

"You go ahead," she waved me off. "I'm going to keep studying the scoring card."

I studied her in the yellow light, hunched over in full concentration, narrowing her eyes through her reading glasses. I could picture a little girl, the top of her class, bent over a book, excited to learn, eager to become something great. I felt sadness for her dreams that would never be. But I also felt pride, because she was here, helping me achieve my dreams.

My mama has taught me how to be fierce. Ferocity comes from facing life's challenges head on, using what you have been given to make the most out of things. My mama had every opportunity taken away from her when she was a young girl, but she still faces every day with a can-do attitude.