As a true “Chinese Southern Belle,” I was born a first-generation Chinese-American in Atlanta, Georgia and grew up in what was then, the small town of Smyrna, the “Jonquil City.” Since I was the third and youngest daughter, everyone predicted, by hunch or by hope, that I would be a boy, since my mom already had two girls.
According to the Chinese tradition of favoring male children, conventional relatives would give their condolences at the news of a baby girl, and congratulations at the news of a baby boy. Legend has it that unlucky wives or concubines were doomed to suffer from a lifetime of guilt, poverty or even death for not delivering a male heir.
Fortunately for us, my father seemed impartial. As my mom and sisters often pointed out, “he spoiled you from the moment you were born!” Even my name is symbolic and auspicious: “ti” means humanitarian and is composed of the characters for “heart” and “brother.” Chinese people take their names very seriously as an embodiment of the person’s character and family reputation.
My dad took me fishing (“you can bait your own hooks or sit there”), camping, shooting, motorcycling, and hunting. I owned a Daisy BB-gun rifle and later shot a Kit 22 and a 44-Magnum. I don’t remember many pink things in my room. My dad liked the Sears brand and preferred durability and value over fashion colors!
