Jian Ping's column
A Heartfelt Connection
Jian Ping is author of “Mulberry Child: A Memoir of
China. “ For more information, visit
www.moraquest.
com  or www.mulberrychild.com. Jian Ping’s blog,
which she keeps with a couple of other authors, is at
www.smearedtype.com.
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by Jian Ping

I talked to a group of women, mostly aged 50 and above who are mothers or grandmothers, in a
Chicago northern suburb recently. The frozen lake reflected the bright sun, making a cold winter
day seem warm, when I arrived at a large residential house where the talk was scheduled. Terry,
a member of the women's group who had picked me up at the Metra train station, pointed to the
lake in front of us and explained to me the winter activities at the local community. I was amazed
to learn, among other things, there was an annual golf outing on the frozen lake. Looking at the
colorful camping tents dotted on the lake for ice fishing, I wondered how many of them were
parents and children teams enjoying some winter fun while bonding.

The story I was about to share with this women's book group was mostly that of mother and
daughter relationship—the connections, or rather, disconnections among different generations
and the universal theme of mother-daughter conflicts and love no matter what kind of cultural
background we come from.
Jian Ping
A few women came to greet me as Terry and I walked through the door. Freddies, the hostess of the event for the day, gave us a
warm welcome. Terry had explained to me their system—a monthly meeting hosted by one member who would provide the site
of the gathering and drinks, and co-hosted by three or four others who would bring and serve food, from appetizer, entree, to
dessert. I thought the practice very smart. It not only creates a venue for the discussion of a book, but also provides a fine
socializing opportunity. I took a quick look in the kitchen and noticed a variety of drinks, including wine, on the counter. Terry
brought me a glass of water, my preferred beverage, and I soon turned my attention to setting up my laptop, so I could show
some visuals in PowerPoint. A few people came by to say hello and share their feedback on my book. I was touched by their
warmth and openness.

The chattering and laughter came to a halt as Terry announced the beginning of the event. She introduced my book and me,
providing details of the path I had covered and mentioning about the feature-length documentary film based on my book that
recently had been shown in Chicago.

I took my opportunity to look around the packed living room, about 25 people, all facing us attentively. I thanked them for
selecting my book to read for the month.

"How many of you have been to China?" I asked, wondering how many details I should give about the differences of today's
China from the 60s and 70s as described in my book. Only two raised their hands.

I quickly addressed the content of the book and China's history during that period. What I really wanted to focus on for the day
was the parallel relationship between mother and daughter as manifested in the film, namely, my relationship with my mother,
and my daughter's relationship with me. I only came to realize how much I mirrored my mother in raising my daughter, Lisa,
during the process of making the film, despite the different social and cultural circumstances in China and the U.S.

"I wrote the book for Lisa, who grew up an all-American girl," I told them. "Writing was a difficult process, but also a healing one."

Looking at the cover of my book in the hands of the women in front of me, my mind was flooded with memories of the past. I
wanted my daughter, and for that matter her children in the future, to know where she has come from.

"The making of the film was quite a different experience," I continued. "In many ways, it was more difficult because it presented
my intention to write the book and the disconnect between Lisa and me today."

I paused for a moment before getting into more details about our cultural and generational differences, and in retrospect, what I
could have done in order to be a better mother.

I admitted that I never realized how much pressure my high expectations have placed on my daughter during her growing up
years. I remember the incident when, as a ten-year-old, Lisa reported to me she got 93 points on a math test, an "A" that she
was proud of, only to be greeted by me with a question—"what happened to the other 7 points?" I can still recall the tears
running down her face. I shared with them how, during the process of making the film, it hit me hard in realizing how closely I
had followed the model of my mother in raising Lisa. The two cultures were so different that the upbringing of children that I was
accustomed to collided head-on with the "common practices" in the U.S., creating conflicts between us. Even today, as
presented in the film, we are still dealing with our differences, learning to accept and respect each other despite them.

"It's a process," as Lisa stated at the end of the film.

I must admit that it has been, and I figure, will continue to be, an on-going process.

I examined the engaged look on each woman's face and appreciated the feedback and resonation they expressed. I felt a
genuine connection with them, with their life experiences.

To lighten up the atmosphere a little, as I figure many of them must be thinking of the universal theme of mother-daughter
relationship and their own experiences, I tried to inject some humor by poking fun at my own "tough mother" image.

"I'm not a 'Tiger Mother'," I said, feeling compelled to make my position clear.

They all burst into laughter.   

"I heard people say mother-daughter relationship would get better when the daughter establishes her own family, and better yet,
when she has her own child. Is that right?" I asked.

There were quite a few women in the audience nodding their heads. Then, I saw one woman in the front row shake her head
vehemently.

"No, not necessarily," she said in a calm but clear voice.

Another round of laughter erupted, followed by a spirited discussion.

I realized how similar our experiences were and how deeply we could understand and connect with one another.
We continued our discussion over two tables of
food. The three co-hostesses served a variety of
food on a large ceramic plate, followed by a big
piece of cake.  

One woman with silver hair came to me after lunch.

"I want to give you a hug before leaving," she said,
extending her arms.

"We are big huggers," another woman joined her.
We hugged, pressing closer to each other.

I had never hugged so many people in a day before
and loved the feeling of connection and care.  

"For all the hugged you missed as a child," one
woman said to my ears as we hugged.

I laughed with tears welling up in my eyes.