走在自己的人生路上

红墙

我的小儿子跟Zoe的妹妹Amy在一个游泳队里，因此时常有机会跟Zoe的爸爸妈妈聊天说话讨论养儿育女之经验教训。有段时间不常见Zoe的爸爸妈妈，挺奇怪，问人家，Zoe妈妈说，最近太忙了，有时只好让大女儿Zoe来送妹妹。

那天黄昏，果真看到一位清秀的女生带着Amy匆匆走进来。我猜想她一定是Zoe了，远远便冲着她嗨了一声。她当然不知道我这个背地里知道她的“多事佬”，可能有点纳闷，不过她很礼貌地点头笑笑，也嗨了一声。

不久便得知Zoe被麻省理工学院提前录取的消息。那时，Zoe又没空来送妹妹了。我想给她套近乎也没地方套去，只好追在Zoe爸爸妈妈后面：快点给我们讲讲你们的父母法宝，也好让我们紧跟啊。

Zoe的爸爸妈妈好像一头雾水，努力思考了半天，回答：这个，那个。。。我们没做什么。。。

啊哈！这可不是我想听到的答案。我起劲地启发人家：平时谈起教育孩子来你们不也是头头是道吗？再努力想想，这么优秀的孩子， 不可能是天生的，你们做父母的，怎么也要有些心得体会吧？

Zoe的妈妈是东北人，坦诚实在，没太多的弯弯绕：我觉得孩子还是在个性，我这孩子从小就比较要强，不喜欢落后于人。。。

我的注意力一下子转到Zoe身上。我再次想起来那个清秀的女孩子在黄昏里领着妹妹匆匆的赶到YMCA的模样。不行，我下定决定去见Zoe。到现在为止，我只从父母这一面听到他们怎么管教孩子的，还没有听到孩子的声音。我想问问Zoe，这个正值二八芳龄的的女孩子是怎么在美国天空下和中国父母之间的夹缝里成长起来的，她快乐吗，她如意吗？

架不住我的软磨硬泡，通过了Zoe的父母，我终于跟Zoe直接联系上了。见面之前我已经打听到如下的信息：

高中十二年级
天蝎座
有一个开明温暖的家庭
有三位铁杆女友，其中一位从小学三年级便在一起
弹了十年的钢琴
喜欢骑马
在高中四百多应届毕业生中总成绩排名第三

我很喜欢Zoe的爸爸妈妈，都是爽快开朗的人，说笑起来，嘁哩咔啦，那流行的话说是给点阳光就灿烂。见面才知道，Zoe是一个比较安静的女生，不象我那么多话很容易理解，但她也不太象她的爸爸妈妈--Zoe的父母应该算是性格外向一类的，多少跟我有些相像。

Zoe落落大方，她把我完全当作了报社记者，她说：我很普通。

她这么一说，很让我泄气。不是对Zoe泄气，而是对自己，因为我不认为Zoe很普通。这个世界上，普通的孩子很多，他们走不到Zoe走到的这儿。至少我象Zoe这么大时，并不能落落大方地面对记者。我不由地问她：你什么时候不再用父母管了？

这算什么问题！要是我儿子在，一准给我戴顶“中国家长”的帽子：就知道管管管！好在Zoe并没有笑话我。Zoe想了想：大约四年级的时候。在这之前，妈妈还带着我学数学什么的，在这之后，我就自己开始知道学习了。妈妈从此不太过问我的学习细节。不过，我妈妈是我最贴心的人，我什么话都会给我父母讲的。我妈妈也会在需要的时候给我出主意想办法，当然听不听就在我了。他们最大的好处有两点，第一，从来不强迫我，让我be myself。第二，特别支持我（supportive)。

我问：你认为你自认是很有目标，决心和动力的那类人吗？

Zoe对于我的这个定义好像有点犹豫：怎么说呢，也许是吧？我知道我自己想要什么，应该怎么做。。。不过，我觉得父母的影响还是很大的。我爸爸妈妈是那种很开明的父母，他们几乎让我做所有我想做的事。所以，我如果不好好学习，我就会很内疚，觉得爸爸妈妈为我做了那么多。。。

我打断她的话：你爸爸妈妈说他们并没有为你做什么特别的事情啊。你觉得你爸爸妈妈对你管教的最大特点是什么？

Zoe回答：我觉得我爸爸妈妈不太管我小事，他们很信任我。比如我出去聚会（party）去了。我只告诉他们，我出去了，晚时会打电话回来。爸爸妈妈就不会追问我。可我爸爸妈妈非常支持我。。。我喜欢骑马。我爸爸有时早上五点多便爬起来，开车到马场去给我拿号，排队。觉不够睡，有时在车里就睡着了。我参加学校的活动，无论什么时候，爸爸总是去接我。从来不怕麻烦，乐呵呵地去，乐呵呵地回来。我爸爸是那种很开朗的人，想得很开。。。我真的很感激我的父母。

这使得我想起来一位美国朋友，她说她小时候想出去参加活动，爸爸妈妈都不支持，很少带她出去。她现在想起来就比较抱怨父母。 一边抱怨，一边对我翘大拇指，连声说：you are good （你可真好）。我说，在这一点上，中国父母都一样，只能做的太多，不会做少。

那么，我问Zoe：你觉得你父母是典型的中国父母吗？我告诉Zoe，我儿子动辄指责我是典型的中国父母。为孩子做的多，要求太多，不够放松。

Zoe笑笑，有点象过来人的意思：其实，我有时也会这么说我的爸爸妈妈。但心里并不是完全这么想的，或者说并不是一直这么想。我的爸爸妈妈是很那种很open-minded 的父母，他们有时也确实是“中国”。比如，有一次，我带着妈妈去看电影“The Hours” （时光）。。。

那件事，我知道。Zoe的妈妈告诉过我。有个周末，家里两个小孩子有自己的聚会。Zoe 便拉着妈妈娇嗔：妈妈，你天天忙，总没时间给我。今天就交给我，咱们去看电影好不好？妈妈一听，心先温柔：成！就交给你了！娘俩说说笑笑来到电影院。当时也没什么电影好看，Zoe极力推荐“The Hours”，说她已经看过了，很好看。同学们被电影打动，出来个个眼睛都水汪汪的。Zoe妈妈二话不说，跟着女儿走进去。谁知，看着看着，妈妈就开始如坐针毡。。。什么破玩意儿，同性恋！还是女的，还接吻！！！别谈什么感动了， Zoe妈妈就差站起来甩手走掉了。

本来讲好电影之后母女俩一同吃饭，“温馨”一回的。这下子，没出电影院的门，两人就唧唧歪歪上了！妈妈一脸阶级斗争：以后，你看的电影我们要审查，不能什么电影都乱看。Zoe还沉浸在剧情当中，正要夸奖女主演们出色的表演呢，被妈妈打击了一把，立刻急了：妈妈，这是文化，你懂不懂！你没文化！

母女俩各自铿锵有力。妈妈说：就算妈妈没有你说的美国文化，但妈妈有妈妈自己的文化，好坏还是有自己的见解和看法的。如果同性恋是天生的，那时没有办法的事情，我尊重他/她们。但同性恋决不是什么值得炫耀和学习的事，这个电影绝对不起什么好作用。Zoe则哭叫起来：妈妈，你总拿中国的那些东西来压我，我在美国学校里学的文化是一种，在你们那里是另外一种，你知道我摇摆在里面，多难啊！

争着吵着，两个人都落下悲伤的眼泪。好好的一场母女温馨约会变成一场中美文化之争。

后来两个人都平静下来。Zoe说，妈妈有她的道理。我知道那是她骨子里的东西，我不能改变她。

后来妈妈也说：这可能是你们美国文化的一部分吧。我只希望女儿你能够识别什么是好的，什么是不好的东西。

在我们见面之前，我曾经问Zoe，希望她能给我定义一把，她，这个2岁到美国来的黑眼睛黑头发黄皮肤的女孩子，到底是华裔少年（Chinese American Teen) 还是美国少年(American Teen)？我知道这个问题很傻，但还是问了。

她没有正面回答我，她给我寄来她申请MIT的作文。其中一篇是“我的文化”，Zoe这么开篇的--英文原文棒极了，我只能翻译出一点意思来：

在这个寒冷的星期五的下午，我学着做饺子，这是我十六年来的第一次。我把面粉弄得到处都是，衬衫上，甚至头发上。不过，做饺子最难的部分还是把猪肉馅塞进皮里面去。我包的饺子不是奶奶包了成千上万个的猪肉韭菜馅，我把美国的奶酪（cheese) 包进去--东西方的食品在这里相会相聚，亲密无缝，就像我被包裹在中国和美国的文化之间。

我一下子被吸引住了！也对Zoe以这么小小的年纪就有这么巧妙的看问题的角度而惊叹。 Zoe说，身处中国家庭，受教育在美国学校里，这两种文化的交锋是不可避免的。美国里的高中生个个热火朝天的谈恋爱，你不谈好像有点不正常似的。可爸爸妈妈对二八年华的女儿是绝对担心的。Zoe第一次把男朋友领回家来，爸爸妈妈都如临大敌，表面上无风无浪，但人家走了，爸爸妈妈一脸严肃：Zoe, 我们谈谈！

（"My culture": Among my friends, I am one of the group- an eager, open-minded American teenager. At the same time, I am a disciplined daughter and active member of the Chinese community. Admittedly, both my mom and my not-so-Chinese, brown-haired, blue-eyed, Polish boyfriend were shocked the first time I brought him home: my mom because she had thought I would not date until college and even then, only a respectable Chinese boy, and my boyfriend because he believed he was expected to eat the full three course meal placed in front of him with a pair of thin wooden sticks. But, even as the two halves of my world meshed head on, the result has been far from catastrophic. On the contrary, my social versatility has allowed me to become a much more interesting person, adaptive and receptive to the boundless possibilities that lie ahead.

我十分理解Zoe的爸爸妈妈的心情和做法。我倒是对Zoe把这段事情很坦然大方地写在申请 MIT的作文中，一口一个我的男朋友感到Zoe美国式的特立独行。我猜想，至少在这一点上， Zoe真的是个100%的美国青少年了。我追问她：男朋友现在怎么样了？

Zoe笑笑：我们已经散了。好像谈恋爱也是高中的一个经历。经历过了，知道是怎么回事了，也就不觉得神秘了。

我有点呆呆望着面前这位风华正茂的少女，脑袋里冒出本文的题目：走在自己的人生道路上。你们不认为Zoe正昂首阔步地走在自己的人生道路上吗？她的人生路不一定很平坦，但很开阔。

Zoe的妈妈说的对，个性决定人生。

在回答我“到底怎么样才能被名校录取时”，Zoe说，有时候也不全看年级排名和SAT 的成绩。她说，我的SAT只有1530，我只考了一次，并没有再考。我想，我的作文大概帮助了我。还有，去年夏天，我参加了MIT的夏令营--那个夏令营在700多人中录取40 人，进去的人中申请MIT,大部分被录取了。另外，每年各个名校的录取情况也有所不同，好像今年申请哈佛大学比申请耶鲁大学容易些，因为申请耶鲁大学的学生特别多。

Zoe说她很喜欢写作，不过，她很有可能会像妈妈一样去拿一个生物或者化学的博士学位，然后去做研究工作。在这一点上，她的中国父母很坚持：写作可以当做业余爱好，但最好别成职业。Zoe笑笑：也许我还是中国饺子，只不过加了些美国馅而已。

嗯，一种接近完美的结合。

Zoe Chen Essay1 for MIT English: Extracurricular Activity: Equitation

A chilly wind glides through the trees around me, toying with leaves, making them jingle like a thousand colorful bells. Nipping at my nose, the breeze wafts a stench of hay and dung. Ah, how I love this smell. I draw in deep breaths and savor the peculiar, yet all too familiar aroma. Deep down in the safety of my Troxel helmet, hidden to everyone but myself, threads of thought weave intricate patterns. My heart beats lightly as my body yields and stiffens. Fifteen hands above the ground, I discover myself.

Six years have passed since I first began horseback riding and in this time, I have made some unlikely friends. The thoroughbred senior citizen of my barn, Tiger, still displays a youthful vigor and can often be seen prancing through pastures during turnout. Nevada growls and gallops forward while Zipper comically dances in reverse. With carrots and patience, I win the favor of each horse. Slowly, I earn their trust and respect, qualities that also underlie every healthy human relationship. Communication occurs without words in a silent stream of motions and thoughts. We work together- pals, allies, and cohorts - to tackle difficult courses and push toward taller fences and higher goals.

My right hand rotates around an invisible axis, applying even pressure across Xanadu’s body as I currycomb to loosen the caked mud from his fur. My other hand wields a softer horse brush, sweeping long, straight strokes. Curry, two, three. Brush, five, six. A test of coordination, a rhythm. The memory of a broken rhythm drifts into my consciousness. The day was like any other. Arriving at Lord Stirling Stables, I had been assigned to ride Xanadu. I trotted figure eights and cantered twenty-meter circles. Clip Clop. Clip Clop. Approaching a fence, I shortened my reins and grabbed mane, sure that I would land safely on the other side and continue the same routine. Only, I didn’t. In one fell swoop, I found myself sprawled out on the grainy, sand-covered earth.

Smiling, I recall my sudden and rather painful string of intimacies with the ground. Whether out of stubbornness or folly, I weathered bruises, x-rays, and frustration to remount Xanadu and Kid and Brownie and Jethro. Under the watchful eye of my instructor, I adjusted my posture and regained my sense of balance. Putting down my brushes, I pat Xanadu’s neck. I am thankful that he helped replace fears and false security with conviction and true confidence in hard work.

Some people, having heard of the many dangers of equitation, ask what I see in the sport. Riding is a pastime that challenges me, encouraging me to take risks that allow me to grow. I see the chance to get muddy and sweaty. I see friends who are free from pretension, who continually show me the importance of patience, and who teach me to take myself less seriously. I see laughter. I see tears. In this place where the wind carries the smell of fresh fertilizer, I see myself.

In this place where the wind carries the smell of fresh fertilizer, I see myself.

Zoe Chen Essay2 for MIT English: My Culture

It took all the strength my 115-pound body could muster to keep my bladder from failing. There I stood, in my kitchen, rolling pin in hand, laughing so hard that tears streamed in rivulets down my face. On this chilly Friday afternoon in the Year of the Horse, I was trying my hand at making dumplings for the first time in 16 years. Everywhere I turned there was flour- dusting all the countertops, finding its way onto the front of my shirt, and even giving me a couple of powdery white hairs. The creation that lay before me could be likened to just about anything except the delicate pockets of dough stuffed with scrumptious pork-and-chives filling I had seen my grandma fold so many times before. My dumpling was different. It had the painstakingly molded creases characteristic of every dumpling, but to its filling I had added cheese. It was too bold not to be American yet too dainty to be wholly un-Chinese. My dumpling was special, for it lay at a juncture- the fringe of where east meets west.

My world is oddly parallel to this aberration of a dumpling, the result of finding identity in two completely different societies. I arrived at my home thousands of Li away from my birthplace as a bubbling toddler on the lap of my paternal grandmother. From as far back as I can remember, I was reared in full awareness of my Asian heritage. “Aiya,” my mother would say, “hold your chopsticks the proper way- firm but poised without crossing the tops.” I was taught to sit up straight, sent to Chinese school, and coached to speak Mandarin with a distinct Beijing accent. I learned the ribbon dance, practiced tying perfect Chinese knots, and observed strict etiquette. Noodles are for long life, red is for good luck, fish is for prosperity, and I was all for Chinese sitcoms received on our satellite dish, or “little ear” as my parents fondly called it.

Sometime between when I walk out my front door and when I enter my three-building, two-storied high school, I become a full-fledged American teen. With friends, I assess the dating scene, contemplate the conductivity of a pickle, or speculate the latest sellout of a talented pop icon for money. We go to parties and out for coffee. In this world of school and friends, new traditions take root. Since freshman year, around when the days get noticeably longer and the birds chirp just a little louder, my three best friends, Flora, Jess, Stacey, and I gather for our annual Boum de Fondue. Walking through Stacey’s front door, with Princess bounding forth to greet me with a sloppy lick, I know that I am welcome. The four of us, standing over a simmering pot of chocolate, muse about college, careers, and being gray haired “regulars” of a quiet restaurant.

Among my friends, I am one of the group- an eager, open-minded American teenager. At the same time, I am a disciplined daughter and active member of the Chinese community. Admittedly, both my mom and my not-so-Chinese, brown-haired, blue-eyed, Polish boyfriend were shocked the first time I brought him home: my mom because she had thought I would not date until college and even then, only a respectable Chinese boy, and my boyfriend because he believed he was expected to eat the full three course meal placed in front of him with a pair of thin wooden sticks. But, even as the two halves of my world meshed head on, the result has been far from catastrophic. On the contrary, my social versatility has allowed me to become a much more interesting person, adaptive and receptive to the boundless possibilities that lie ahead.

Uncovering a pot of boiling water, I dropped in my special dumpling and gave it a fierce swirl. Without even tasting it, I could already imagine the pungent flavor of chives and the velvety creaminess of cheese in my dumpling- Chinese, yet so American; American, yet undeniably Chinese. Chinese American.