by Susan Tan
There are some traditions, though, that I don’t think will ever change. They’re called family traditions, and all my grandparents are REALLY strict about them. For example, once a year I get a red envelope with a whole ten dollars inside from my Nai Nai and Ye Ye. This is fun because I love presents, and because it involves going to my Ye Ye’s favorite restaurant, which has a giant dragon statue in the lobby. On the wall. With glowing green eyes. And you can’t find much that’s better for the imagination than that. Also, there are fireworks. On the red envelope day, which is called Chinese New Year, the fireworks are tied to string, and men light them in the streets, and my mom says, “Keep your distance, Cilla,” and the fireworks go “Pop pop pop!” and flash in little puffs of smoke.
These kinds of fireworks are very different than the fireworks we get to see during another family tradition, which is the Fourth of July. It’s our family tradition to go to my Grandma and Grandpa Jenkins’s house on the Fourth of July. We eat hamburgers and yellow cake decorated with whipped cream, strawberries, and blueberries in the shape of a flag. This is a great family tradition, because it’s delicious.
Sometimes, there are traditions on both sides of my family on the very same day, like Thanksgiving. In the afternoon, we go to my Nai Nai and Ye Ye’s, who have us over, along with all their friends from Chinatown. We sit everywhere—at the table, in the living room, on the floor, on the couch—and eat turkey and rice and spareribs and bok choy. All the food is piled on one big table and none of the plates match.
After afternoon Thanksgiving with my Nai Nai and Ye Ye, we get in the car and go to my Grandma and Grandpa Jenkins’s house, where my mom reminds us to “act hungry.” There, we sit at the dining room table (which is somehow more special than the kitchen one, though I don’t quite understand why), and we eat off fancy plates with gold at their edges. By the end of the day, I am VERY full of turkey, mashed potatoes, and pumpkin pie, not to mention the soy sauce chicken, sticky rice stuffing, and roasted duck.
I like family traditions. They’re fun, plus you get to dress up in your prettiest grown-up clothes. And eat A TON.
So when my Grandpa Jenkins told me about a new tradition this past weekend that I’d never heard about, I was excited to try it. We were staying with Grandma and Grandpa Jenkins so my grandma could help with the baby.
That day, I was upstairs playing with the dollhouse that my grandparents keep for me. Dollhouses are great for making up stories, and I was in the middle of an epic drama that had Suspense and five main characters, three love interests, ten children, two imaginary dogs, and my teddy bear as an all-powerful dragon.
“Cilla.” Grandpa Jenkins interrupted my story. “I was wondering if you’d like to come on a special walk with me.”
“A walk?” I didn’t even look up, that’s how exciting my doll story was. “I don’t know, I’m kind of busy right now.…”
“Oh, it’s not just an everyday kind of walk,” he said. “This walk is part of a very old, long-standing town tradition.”
I looked up. “A tradition?” He had my attention now.
“Yes, a tradition,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the playroom couch.
“You see, your grandma and I live in a very old town. And there’s a custom that dates all the way back, hundreds of years ago, to the first people who lived here. Every Sunday afternoon, without fail, the townspeople dress in their finest clothes and go for a walk in the local park, the one right by the old bridge.”
I considered this for a moment.
“Why haven’t we done it before?”
“Well,” my grandpa said, scratching his head, “because you’re usually not here on Sundays. And, most of all, because this tradition is very old and special. You have to do it right. So I didn’t want to suggest it if you didn’t have your Sunday best to wear. That wouldn’t have been fair to you. But, as luck would have it, your grandma told me that you brought a very special dress here this weekend.”
“Yes!” I exclaimed, suddenly excited. “My cheongsam! I just got it as an early birthday present, and it’s for special occasions.”
“Golly!” Grandpa Jenkins exclaimed. “What luck!”
* * *
And so my Grandpa Jenkins and I left the house a half hour later, my grandpa looking fancy in a white suit, gold vest, red bow tie, and white handkerchief with yellow and red stripes in his pocket. On his head he wore what he calls his “finest fedora,” and he carried a brown cane with a silver horse head on top.
I had on my brand-new red cheongsam. It’s long and narrow at the bottom, with buttons made of cloth that loop at your neck. Mine has gold patterns all over, and it’s the most beautiful thing I own. I’ve wanted a cheongsam for the looooongest time, and my Nai Nai and Ye Ye decided that nine was grown-up enough to finally get one. And even though my birthday isn’t for another four-and-a-half days, they gave it to me early because they were too excited to wait, plus I’ve been so good about helping with The Blob.
In a cheongsam, it’s easy to feel like a princess (no glitter glue required this time), and it just so happened that my mom had brought my fancy gold slippers. (“I thought your grandma might like to see the whole outfit,” she said, “and just threw them in at the last minute.” “Golly,” I’d replied. “What luck!”)
Grandpa Jenkins and I set off, dried leaves swirling at our feet.
“To the bridge!” he said, pointing ahead with his cane. I took his arm and felt very grown-up.
“So, Cilla,” he said as we strolled (which is a fancy word for “walking”), “what have you been up to this past week? Oh, good morning.” He tipped his hat to some people on the street who were looking at us.
“They’re not dressed up,” I observed.
“Well, we’re not at the park yet.”
“Ah.” I nodded, skipping along beside him. “Well,” I began, “this week’s been very good.” I told him about the last week of camp, and about getting a letter that told me my third-grade teacher is called Mr. Flight, which is exciting because I wonder if he’s a pilot, or has wings.
“Good morning,” a couple walking by said, smiling at us.
“Good morning!” I waved back happily, though I turned to my grandpa and whispered in a very soft voice, so they wouldn’t feel bad, “They’re not dressed up either. And they’ve just left the park.”
“Young people these days,” he said, shaking his head. “They have no respect for traditions.”
“Terrible.” I shook my head too and made a tsking noise like him. Then I waved at another couple who had just noticed us in our Sunday best and were probably feeling bad because they weren’t dressed up either.
“I’ve been spending a lot of time at home, and at Colleen’s house, because Mom and Dad are too tired to do things like go to the park or the zoo,” I went on. “But it’s okay.”
“Well,” Grandpa Jenkins said, “your mom tells me you’re being just wonderful with the baby.”
“I guess.” I shrugged. “I like it more than I thought I would,” I admitted. “But taking care of a little sister seems like a lot of work and responsibilities.”
“Well.” Grandpa Jenkins thought for a minute. “It’s true that there are a lot of responsibilities attached. But it can be fun, too. And you also have a pretty big influence, you know, as a big sister.”
“Really?” I asked, not quite believing him.
“It’s true,” he said. “Why, the things you teach her, and the stories you tell her, will really matter. You know, my older sister, your great-aunt Annette, had me convinced that I wasn’t really her brother. She told me that I’d been left on the doorstep by fairies or elves, and I believed her until I was five or six. Not that you should do that,” he added quickly. “She got in trouble when our parents found out.”
“Huh…” I said. Great-aunt Annette is pretty great (which makes sense, I guess, because it’s in her name). She does magic tricks at the dinner table, which makes my grandma make tsking noises, but she
does them anyway, which is very brave. I didn’t know that she told stories too (excellent ones, for that matter). And I’d forgotten that Great-aunt Annette is my grandpa’s sister, and I’d definitely forgotten that my Grandpa Jenkins is a little brother.
“Oh, good morning.” My grandpa nodded to a group of women smiling in our direction.
“Don’t you two look lovely!” one of the women exclaimed.
“Thank you,” I replied. “It’s a tradition.”
“Have a nice morning, ladies,” my grandpa said, touching his hat, which is a fancy way of saying hello and goodbye, and we kept walking.
“Grandpa, those women weren’t even ‘young people,’ and they weren’t dressed up either!” I put my hands on my hips. “Something has to be done!”
“Well, we’ll just have to lead by example, Cilla, my dear,” my grandpa said, glancing at his watch. His horse-head cane made click-click-clicking sounds as it hit the wooden boards of the old bridge.
“Maybe I will like the baby someday,” I said, stopping with him at the center of the bridge to look out over the small river that runs through his town. “I like it more now, especially because I don’t have to share my birthday.”
“Yes,” my grandpa said, looking out over the water. “Only a few days to go—are you excited?”
I nodded. “Mom says I’ll get to celebrate with you and Grandma Jenkins the night before, which I’m happy about. I asked for chocolate cake.”
“Mmmmmm,” my Grandpa Jenkins said.
“Yes,” I agreed. “Then I’ll celebrate with Mom and Dad on my birthday, and with Nai Nai and Ye Ye the day after. But I don’t know if I’ll have a party with my friends right away, because Alien-F—Ben was away last week, and I didn’t want to have a party if he couldn’t come. And then school starts right after my birthday, like it does every year, so everyone will be busy.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” my Grandpa Jenkins said. “Maybe you can celebrate with your friends another time.”
“Yes,” I said, thoughtfully. “That’s what Mom said too. We’ll see. Mom and Dad are really tired all the time, and busy with the baby, so I don’t know.”
“Good morning!” A jogger smiled as he ran past.
“Good morning,” my grandpa replied.
“Good morning,” I said, wishing I had a cap to pat also.
“People are very friendly here,” I said, after a moment. “I think maybe it’s because they feel guilty, because sneakers and running shorts definitely don’t count as Sunday best.”
“Quite right, Cilla.” My grandpa nodded, then glanced at his watch again. “Say, we should probably turn back now. Your grandma wanted me home to run some errands, and you know how she is about being on time.”
I raised my eyebrows and nodded understandingly, because I did. My Grandma Jenkins likes things to be “just so.”
We headed back across the grassy green field, waving to the people who smiled at us (who were also NOT wearing their Sunday best).
“Thank you, Cilla,” my Grandpa Jenkins said as we came up to his house. “This has been a lovely walk.”
“Thank you for taking me,” I said, giving his arm a hug. “It’s a very nice tradition, and I like being in my Sunday best, even if most people don’t do it.”
“Agreed,” he said, opening the front door. “After you, my dear. Do you mind telling your grandma we’re back? I think she’s in the kitchen.”
“Of course not!” I skipped to the kitchen door. “Only she’s probably in her office, because it looks like the kitchen light is off.” I popped my head in, just to check. “Grandma? Grandma, are you—?”
“SURPRISE!!!!!”
The lights came on.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. There were blue streamers all over the ceiling and walls and my mom was holding a cake that said “Happy Birthday, Cilla!” And next to her were Colleen and Alien-Face McGee and Sally and Connor and the Tims and even Sasha. And my grandpa was behind me, grinning, and there, in the very center of the kitchen, smiling and blowing little party trumpets, were my Grandma Jenkins and, next to her, my Nai Nai and Ye Ye.
“Happy birthday!” they shouted.
And then it was all a jumble of noise and hugs and happy birthdays, and Colleen came bouncing up to me and said, “I’ve had to keep this a secret for FOREVER! If it weren’t for Alien-Face reminding me, I would’ve forgotten and told you!”
And Alien-Face McGee came over and shouted, “Surprise, Silly!”
And Sasha gave me a hug and said, “I’ve missed you, Cilla! Summer break is sooooooooooo long!”
And it was only a few minutes later, when my mom came over and said, “Good surprise?” that the shock began to wear off even a little.
“The best surprise ever!” I threw my arms around her. “Thank you!”
“Thank your grandmas.” My mom smiled. “They’ve been planning this ever since I was in the hospital. And it was your grandpa’s idea to have you wear your cheongsam.”
So I didn’t even have a chance to get over the surprise, or the idea that when they’d been talking in the hospital, they’d been talking about me.
I turned wide-eyed to my Grandpa Jenkins.
“You mean,” I said, hardly able to believe it, “that the town tradition, strolling in your Sunday best…”
“Well…” My grandpa looked embarrassed. “It’s not exactly true. But your grandmas needed you out of the house, and you needed a reason to wear your dress. I hope you’re not too disappointed.”
I considered all this slowly. “I’m sad it’s not real,” I admitted. “But that,” I said, smiling at my Grandpa Jenkins, “was a great story.”
“It was.” He grinned. “I’ve learned from the best, after all. Now”—he cleared his throat and turned to talk to everyone else—“let’s give the kid her big present, and have some cake.”
My dad and my Ye Ye came in from the next room, and between them, on one of my Grandma Jenkins’s plant carts, they wheeled in something big and brown and just my size.
“A desk!” I gasped.
“Made by your Ye Ye,” my Grandma Jenkins said proudly.
“Decorated by all of us,” my Nai Nai finished.
I ran over to the desk to see, right on the top, six pairs of handprints, pressed on in splashes of green and blue paint.
“A writing desk.” My Grandpa Jenkins grinned. “As befits a bestselling author.”
I stood there, in my special-occasion cheongsam, smiling so much that my cheeks began to hurt. And just this once, I’ll admit that there may be some things writing can’t do. Because sometimes, there really are no words.
15
PRISCILLA LEE-JENKINS
We ate chocolate cake and almond cookies, and Colleen got me a charm bracelet, which is the prize of my jewelry collection. (It’s now, in total, a plastic pearl necklace, flower clip-on earrings, a tiara, and the charm bracelet.) And I even hugged Alien-Face McGee when I opened his present—a set of manatee-shaped erasers and zoo-animal pencils, which he’d picked out for me all by himself.
After cake and presents, we went out in my Grandma and Grandpa Jenkins’s big backyard. My grandma carried The Blob, who had slept through my surprise. My dad and Ye Ye took my new desk outside, and Nai Nai followed behind them carrying a small bucket of paint. Then Colleen and Alien-Face McGee and all my friends dipped their thumbs in paint, and they put their thumbprints all around the edges of the desk. And then it was my turn.
“We thought you could put your handprints right here,” my mom said, pointing to the front drawer, where pens and notebooks would go.
I thought for a moment. I looked at my grandma, and the sleeping Blob. “Actually,” I said, “I think I’ll save that spot, for now.” So I put my handprints on the sides of the desk. And my Grandpa Jenkins took a picture of me doing it, and Colleen and Alien-Face and Sasha and Sally and Connor and the Tims cheered, and I was very happy.
We all washed our hands, and the adults sat on the porc
h by my grandma’s rosebushes while the rest of us played, pushing leaves around in big piles and jumping into them, laughing.
I took a break, though, as the afternoon went on, and went to sit on the grass. I picked a far-off corner and I sat back for a moment, watching my friends run and play, and the adults talking by the house. I thought about Nai Nai and Grandma Jenkins planning my party, and the idea of Ye Ye making the desk, and Grandpa Jenkins making up a story about traditions, just for me. I thought about how my friends had kept my party a secret because they wanted to surprise me. And I thought about my writing desk, and all those handprints, and the fourteen whole thumbprints around its edges, so many that they made a ring around the entire desk.
And I looked off for a minute in the other direction, toward the trees of the neighbors’ yard and the wooden brown fence just past them.
And then the most amazing thing happened.
At first I imagined it was a plane. Then a bird. Then a pterodactyl. But it came closer and closer, falling and falling, and I realized it was a huge cardboard box, wrapped in tinfoil, hurtling toward the ground. I thought it would hit the neighbors’ fence with a fiery crash. But at the last second a parachute popped out, and the box landed with just a small thump on the grass in front of me. It wriggled, the cardboard crunched, and a door cut into the side of the box burst open.
“I did it!” a man exclaimed, tumbling out of the box. He saw me, then froze.
“Cilla!” he exclaimed. “Cilla Lee-Jenkins—it’s really you!
“Yes, it’s me,” I said politely, because that’s what you do when you meet new people. “Who are you?”
“I’m an inventor,” he said with a bow. “I come from the future. My time machine has finally worked!”
“Wow,” I said, looking at the cardboard box. “That’s impressive.”
“Thank you!” He took another small bow. “My calculations, it seems, are a bit off, but it should be no problem at all to reset the machine and take me back to the right date, just about nine years ago. This is very lucky, actually. Now I can be sure to pick a name you’ll like. What will it be? Supernova Lilac? Roswitha Hemingway? Eliadora Smith?”
