The Chinese Dream on Earth

Against the Current: A Family's Struggle for Survival

For those dreaming of having a son, holding a birth permit yet being unable to conceive felt like ants on a hot pan. My parents scoured hospitals big and small and tried countless folk remedies, yet failed to conceive within the stipulated time—about a year. The precious opportunity slipped away, and the birth permit was eventually revoked. Perhaps, as the blind fortune-teller prophesied, hardship was destined. Ironically, it was the year the permit was revoked, in 1979, that my mother unexpectedly became pregnant. Pregnancy was like a clandestine operation, a secret closely guarded by the entire family. My mother, frail and weak, needed medication to sustain the pregnancy, but secrets are hard to keep. Once the village committee learned of her condition, they summoned her for an abortion. Upon hearing this, my father rushed to argue with the village leaders, leading to a violent confrontation where he was overpowered, his shirt sleeves torn in the struggle.

There was a news story about a soldier named Tian Mingjian whose wife's first pregnancy tragically ended in miscarriage. When she became pregnant again, family planning officials forcibly aborted the child, leading to her death from the ordeal. Tian, a man sworn to protect his country, found himself battling against it, ultimately lighting a cigarette and ending his own life in defiance after overcoming six thousand soldiers. My father, a mere farmer without weapons, perhaps realized his own insignificance. In a desperate act to save his unborn child, he took the first stand of his life, fleeing under the cover of night with my pregnant mother. The next day, when officials came to drag people away, they found only me, a clueless child not yet four years old, at home. In an era without phones or mobiles, locating someone who had intentionally vanished was no easy feat. My parents didn't even say goodbye, sneaking away while I slept, my father pedaling his bicycle to hide at my aunt's house in Haiyang. The village officials, unable to find them, eventually had to give up.

My grandparents, aware of the escape, weren't overly worried. They shuttled between two homes daily to care for me, seldom speaking of my parents. I spent most of my time at my grandmother's house, distant from my parents, and rarely asked about them.

Without parental boundaries, my grandmother doted on me even more. Together, an old woman and a little girl, we often made a comedic pair. Illiterate and unfamiliar with skincare products, my grandmother mistakenly used hair wax as face cream on me during my mother's absence. When my parents returned, they hardly recognized me; my originally fair skin turned dark and greasy. When my mother was home, she would braid my hair beautifully, but in her absence, my grandmother could only manage a loose ponytail. Coupled with my constant running around, my hair would quickly become a tangled mess, and the dark wax made me look like a member of a beggars' gang. My father eventually returned home alone, refusing to divulge my mother's whereabouts despite daily inquiries from the villagers. When my grandmother was away, my father reluctantly took on cooking duties, though his attempts were hardly edible, often resulting in doughy pancakes, forcing me to prefer staying with my grandmother.

As my mother neared childbirth, she returned home and shared her experiences at my aunt's house. My aunt held a low status in her in-laws' home, exacerbated by having only daughters—eventually five in total—which further diminished her standing. She was responsible for feeding the entire household, always eating last. When my father took my mother there, my aunt had the added duty of caring for a pregnant woman. Although my aunt's mother-in-law was related to both my father and aunt, my mother felt she did not show any preferential treatment. My kind-hearted aunt always tried to provide extra food for my mother, which led to criticism from other family members. Unable to bear seeing my aunt mistreated, my mother left a month before her due date. Had the child been born in my aunt's home, it would have increased the burden on her, likely causing more resentment.

My mother was nine months pregnant when she returned home. At that stage, an abortion could easily be fatal, especially given her frail health. After the village imposed a fine, they ceased their interference. The night before she gave birth, I stayed with my grandmother. The next morning, as we returned home, I was both shocked and delighted to find a new, red-faced baby beside my mother, wrapped in a striking white cloth. Astonished by the overnight appearance of a little being, and thrilled to have a brother, I longed to hold him but was stopped. I thought his arrival marked the beginning of good fortune, not realizing it was just the start of chaos.