走在自己的人生路上

紅牆

我的小兒子跟Zoe的妹妹Amy在一個游泳隊裡，因此時常有機會跟Zoe的爸爸媽媽聊天說話討論養兒育女之經驗教訓。有段時間不常見Zoe的爸爸媽媽，挺奇怪，問人家，Zoe媽媽說，最近太忙了，有時只好讓大女兒Zoe來送妹妹。

那天黃昏，果真看到一位清秀的女生帶着Amy匆匆走進來。我猜想她一定是Zoe了，遠遠便衝着她嗨了一聲。她當然不知道我這個背地裡知道她的“多事佬”，可能有點納悶，不過她很禮貌地點頭笑笑，也嗨了一聲。

不久便得知Zoe被麻省理工學院提前錄取的消息。那時，Zoe又沒空來送妹妹了。我想給她套近乎也沒地方套去，只好追在Zoe爸爸媽媽後面：快點給我們講講你們的父母法寶，也好讓我們緊跟啊。

Zoe的爸爸媽媽好像一頭霧水，努力思考了半天，回答：這個，那個。。。我們沒做什麼。。。

啊哈！這可不是我想聽到的答案。我起勁地啟發人家：平時談起教育孩子來你們不也是頭頭是道嗎？再努力想想，這麼優秀的孩子， 不可能是天生的，你們做父母的，怎麼也要有些心得體會吧？

Zoe的媽媽是東北人，坦誠實在，沒太多的彎彎繞：我覺得孩子還是在個性，我這孩子從小就比較要強，不喜歡落後於人。。。

我的注意力一下子轉到Zoe身上。我再次想起來那個清秀的女孩子在黃昏里領着妹妹匆匆的趕到YMCA的模樣。不行，我下定決定去見Zoe。到現在為止，我只從父母這一面聽到他們怎麼管教孩子的，還沒有聽到孩子的聲音。我想問問Zoe，這個正值二八芳齡的的女孩子是怎麼在美國天空下和中國父母之間的夾縫裡成長起來的，她快樂嗎，她如意嗎？

架不住我的軟磨硬泡，通過了Zoe的父母，我終於跟Zoe直接聯繫上了。見面之前我已經打聽到如下的信息：

高中十二年級
天蠍座
有一個開明溫暖的家庭
有三位鐵杆女友，其中一位從小學三年級便在一起
彈了十年的鋼琴
喜歡騎馬
在高中四百多應屆畢業生中總成績排名第三

我很喜歡Zoe的爸爸媽媽，都是爽快開朗的人，說笑起來，嘁哩咔啦，那流行的話說是給點陽光就燦爛。見面才知道，Zoe是一個比較安靜的女生，不象我那麼多話很容易理解，但她也不太象她的爸爸媽媽--Zoe的父母應該算是性格外向一類的，多少跟我有些相像。

Zoe落落大方，她把我完全當作了報社記者，她說：我很普通。

她這麼一說，很讓我泄氣。不是對Zoe泄氣，而是對自己，因為我不認為Zoe很普通。這個世界上，普通的孩子很多，他們走不到Zoe走到的這兒。至少我象Zoe這麼大時，並不能落落大方地面對記者。我不由地問她：你什麼時候不再用父母管了？

這算什麼問題！要是我兒子在，一準給我戴頂“中國家長”的帽子：就知道管管管！好在Zoe並沒有笑話我。Zoe想了想：大約四年級的時候。在這之前，媽媽還帶着我學數學什麼的，在這之後，我就自己開始知道學習了。媽媽從此不太過問我的學習細節。不過，我媽媽是我最貼心的人，我什麼話都會給我父母講的。我媽媽也會在需要的時候給我出主意想辦法，當然聽不聽就在我了。他們最大的好處有兩點，第一，從來不強迫我，讓我be myself。第二，特別支持我（supportive)。

我問：你認為你自認是很有目標，決心和動力的那類人嗎？

Zoe對於我的這個定義好像有點猶豫：怎麼說呢，也許是吧？我知道我自己想要什麼，應該怎麼做。。。不過，我覺得父母的影響還是很大的。我爸爸媽媽是那種很開明的父母，他們幾乎讓我做所有我想做的事。所以，我如果不好好學習，我就會很內疚，覺得爸爸媽媽為我做了那麼多。。。

我打斷她的話：你爸爸媽媽說他們並沒有為你做什麼特別的事情啊。你覺得你爸爸媽媽對你管教的最大特點是什麼？

Zoe回答：我覺得我爸爸媽媽不太管我小事，他們很信任我。比如我出去聚會（party）去了。我只告訴他們，我出去了，晚時會打電話回來。爸爸媽媽就不會追問我。可我爸爸媽媽非常支持我。。。我喜歡騎馬。我爸爸有時早上五點多便爬起來，開車到馬場去給我拿號，排隊。覺不夠睡，有時在車裡就睡着了。我參加學校的活動，無論什麼時候，爸爸總是去接我。從來不怕麻煩，樂呵呵地去，樂呵呵地回來。我爸爸是那種很開朗的人，想得很開。。。我真的很感激我的父母。

這使得我想起來一位美國朋友，她說她小時候想出去參加活動，爸爸媽媽都不支持，很少帶她出去。她現在想起來就比較抱怨父母。 一邊抱怨，一邊對我翹大拇指，連聲說：you are good （你可真好）。我說，在這一點上，中國父母都一樣，只能做的太多，不會做少。

那麼，我問Zoe：你覺得你父母是典型的中國父母嗎？我告訴Zoe，我兒子動輒指責我是典型的中國父母。為孩子做的多，要求太多，不夠放鬆。

Zoe笑笑，有點象過來人的意思：其實，我有時也會這麼說我的爸爸媽媽。但心裡並不是完全這麼想的，或者說並不是一直這麼想。我的爸爸媽媽是很那種很open-minded 的父母，他們有時也確實是“中國”。比如，有一次，我帶着媽媽去看電影“The Hours” （時光）。。。

那件事，我知道。Zoe的媽媽告訴過我。有個周末，家裡兩個小孩子有自己的聚會。Zoe 便拉着媽媽嬌嗔：媽媽，你天天忙，總沒時間給我。今天就交給我，咱們去看電影好不好？媽媽一聽，心先溫柔：成！就交給你了！娘倆說說笑笑來到電影院。當時也沒什麼電影好看，Zoe極力推薦“The Hours”，說她已經看過了，很好看。同學們被電影打動，出來個個眼睛都水汪汪的。Zoe媽媽二話不說，跟着女兒走進去。誰知，看着看着，媽媽就開始如坐針氈。。。什麼破玩意兒，同性戀！還是女的，還接吻！！！別談什麼感動了， Zoe媽媽就差站起來甩手走掉了。

本來講好電影之後母女倆一同吃飯，“溫馨”一回的。這下子，沒出電影院的門，兩人就唧唧歪歪上了！媽媽一臉階級鬥爭：以後，你看的電影我們要審查，不能什麼電影都亂看。Zoe還沉浸在劇情當中，正要誇獎女主演們出色的表演呢，被媽媽打擊了一把，立刻急了：媽媽，這是文化，你懂不懂！你沒文化！

母女倆各自鏗鏘有力。媽媽說：就算媽媽沒有你說的美國文化，但媽媽有媽媽自己的文化，好壞還是有自己的見解和看法的。如果同性戀是天生的，那時沒有辦法的事情，我尊重他/她們。但同性戀決不是什麼值得炫耀和學習的事，這個電影絕對不起什麼好作用。Zoe則哭叫起來：媽媽，你總拿中國的那些東西來壓我，我在美國學校里學的文化是一種，在你們那裡是另外一種，你知道我搖擺在裡面，多難啊！

爭着吵着，兩個人都落下悲傷的眼淚。好好的一場母女溫馨約會變成一場中美文化之爭。

後來兩個人都平靜下來。Zoe說，媽媽有她的道理。我知道那是她骨子裡的東西，我不能改變她。

後來媽媽也說：這可能是你們美國文化的一部分吧。我只希望女兒你能夠識別什麼是好的，什麼是不好的東西。

在我們見面之前，我曾經問Zoe，希望她能給我定義一把，她，這個2歲到美國來的黑眼睛黑頭髮黃皮膚的女孩子，到底是華裔少年（Chinese American Teen) 還是美國少年(American Teen)？我知道這個問題很傻，但還是問了。

她沒有正面回答我，她給我寄來她申請MIT的作文。其中一篇是“我的文化”，Zoe這麼開篇的--英文原文棒極了，我只能翻譯出一點意思來：

在這個寒冷的星期五的下午，我學着做餃子，這是我十六年來的第一次。我把麵粉弄得到處都是，襯衫上，甚至頭髮上。不過，做餃子最難的部分還是把豬肉餡塞進皮裡面去。我包的餃子不是奶奶包了成千上萬個的豬肉韭菜餡，我把美國的奶酪（cheese) 包進去--東西方的食品在這裡相會相聚，親密無縫，就像我被包裹在中國和美國的文化之間。

我一下子被吸引住了！也對Zoe以這麼小小的年紀就有這麼巧妙的看問題的角度而驚嘆。 Zoe說，身處中國家庭，受教育在美國學校里，這兩種文化的交鋒是不可避免的。美國里的高中生個個熱火朝天的談戀愛，你不談好像有點不正常似的。可爸爸媽媽對二八年華的女兒是絕對擔心的。Zoe第一次把男朋友領回家來，爸爸媽媽都如臨大敵，表面上無風無浪，但人家走了，爸爸媽媽一臉嚴肅：Zoe, 我們談談！

（"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的爸爸媽媽的心情和做法。我倒是對Zoe把這段事情很坦然大方地寫在申請 MIT的作文中，一口一個我的男朋友感到Zoe美國式的特立獨行。我猜想，至少在這一點上， Zoe真的是個100%的美國青少年了。我追問她：男朋友現在怎麼樣了？

Zoe笑笑：我們已經散了。好像談戀愛也是高中的一個經歷。經歷過了，知道是怎麼回事了，也就不覺得神秘了。

我有點呆呆望着面前這位風華正茂的少女，腦袋裡冒出本文的題目：走在自己的人生道路上。你們不認為Zoe正昂首闊步地走在自己的人生道路上嗎？她的人生路不一定很平坦，但很開闊。

Zoe的媽媽說的對，個性決定人生。

在回答我“到底怎麼樣才能被名校錄取時”，Zoe說，有時候也不全看年級排名和SAT 的成績。她說，我的SAT只有1530，我只考了一次，並沒有再考。我想，我的作文大概幫助了我。還有，去年夏天，我參加了MIT的夏令營--那個夏令營在700多人中錄取40 人，進去的人中申請MIT,大部分被錄取了。另外，每年各個名校的錄取情況也有所不同，好像今年申請哈佛大學比申請耶魯大學容易些，因為申請耶魯大學的學生特別多。

Zoe說她很喜歡寫作，不過，她很有可能會像媽媽一樣去拿一個生物或者化學的博士學位，然後去做研究工作。在這一點上，她的中國父母很堅持：寫作可以當做業餘愛好，但最好別成職業。Zoe笑笑：也許我還是中國餃子，只不過加了些美國餡而已。

嗯，一種接近完美的結合。

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.