do for me. It’s only in retrospect that I realize that he was with me all along in the guise of my brothers. The three of them combined and in their separate ways were my guardian, teacher, and friend.
Let me tell you about each of my brothers, starting with the youngest. Ngai was an active boy with what Mother called a "pointed bottom." He couldn’t sit still for a minute, so studying was difficult for him. Ngai was on the verge of flunking throughout primary school, but something happened soon after he got to the secondary level. He announced that his ambition was to be the commander in chief of the army, navy, and air force. His teachers lauded his lofty goal and told him that studying hard was the only way to achieve it. Overnight, his pointed bottom rounded. He turned from being the tail of the class to the head. Many years afterward, when I was struggling with my son’s education, I would remember Ngai’s transformation and draw hope from it. Some children, I suspect boys more than girls, are destined for a slow start, but once they take off, they can catch up or even exceed their peers.
Being only two years apart, Ngai and I were best friends. As we had no toys to play with, we had to create our own games. One of our favorites was imitating our rulers, the British. I invented it after witnessing a scene on the street. While running an errand for Mother, I saw a British man dressed in a white suit. His pants hugged his legs, reminding me of Mother’s theory that when a gweilo fell, he couldn’t get up because his pants were too tight. The Englishman’s leather shoes made a loud clackety-clack on the pavement. The sight and sound mesmerized me. Everything about him was alien—we Chinese wore baggy pants to give us freedom of movement, and our cloth shoes would never create such a racket. Then I saw a beggar come up to him. The Englishman waved his cane and shouted something, his face turning as red as a monkey’s bottom. The scene made such an impression on me that I reenacted it to Ngai the moment I got home. Brandishing Mother’s duster as the Englishman his cane, I yelled, "Gid-a-wai, chop chop!" I had no idea that what I was saying meant "Get away, hurry up!" To complete my act, I marched off, clucking my tongue to mimic the noisy leather shoes. Ngai rolled with laughter on the floor. From then on, we took turns in playing the Englishman and the beggar.
My second brother, Kin, was already a teenager when I started school. Although I would never address him without his title "Elder Brother," his behavior didn’t always deserve respect. He was a joker and teaser. Being a serious person myself, I never knew when not to take him seriously. Once, after helping me with an arithmetic problem, he demanded payment in food. Whatever I ate, I had to give him an equal share. I set out to fulfill my obligation in earnest, splitting everything I got and collecting them in my handkerchief. After several days, I presented him with a feast of halved cakes and fruits. He howled in laughter. I felt rather hurt, for I’d sacrificed a lot to satisfy his demand. To make matters worse, he grimaced with every bite, complaining this was too sour and that was too sweet.
Home was always noisier when Brother Kin was around. So it was just as well that he was often out with his many friends. They swarmed around him like flies around a plate of food. Not that he had much to offer them, but whenever he had a coin in his pocket, he would fight for the privilege to treat his friends. Mother said his extravagance would be his downfall. Brother Kin answered by sticking out his tongue and cracking his gorgeous smile.
The summer Brother Kin turned sixteen, he joined the lifeguard team at the YMCA. He went there every day, hoping to find someone to save. When school started, he continued to frequent the Y—so much so that he started drowning in poor grades. If Mother were educated, she would have caught the problem in time and put a
Heather Gunter, Raelene Green