A Chinese New Year Story

From what An Qi told me, Chinese New Year to her is basically what Thanksgiving, Christmas and the New Year are to me, all the holidays rolled into one. The part where the family gathers together for a meal? The Chinese do that on the eve of every Chinese New Year, calling it their 'reunion dinner'.

"So everyone in the family comes back together?" I asked, handing her a box of Kleenex. She whipped out a few pieces to wipe her eyes, blowing her nose in the process.

"Yes, this is correct." She looked troubled. "But I couldn't go home this year."

"Oh honey." I reached over, placing my hand on her shoulder to console her. I totally understood what she meant; my brother Todd was still stationed in Iraq, and he hadn't been home for Thanksgiving and Christmas in more than a year. Our family celebrations had been muted affairs, my mom throwing sad glances at Todd's empty chair throughout dinner.

Now that I was studying in Chicago, I wonder how she felt, having both her kids so far from home and not being able to be with her for the holidays.

"My father would always cook his famous roast duck for us," An Qi said quietly. For a moment I had almost forgotten she was there. "He would spend two days getting it ready, you know? Marinating it, drying the skin so it would be crispy. Then he would carve it up and serve it for reunion dinner, and give one of his speeches like: 'The year 2020 has been a year filled with trials and obstacles. I hope that 2021 will be one filled with endless fortune and bountiful wealth! Like the strong and mighty field ploughing ox, let 2021 be a year of growth and good health.' Only then would he allow us to eat."

An Qi was smiling through her tears now. I felt for her, because I missed home too.