Peanut-picking Contest

It’s hard to have a son who is not very similar to you either in looks or status. William may have inherited my poetic temperament and writing ability but, except one of his thumbs, he looks very different from me. Well, it doesn’t really bother me, for after twenty-two years of working on it, I have finally accepted the fact; but not so with William. For some odd reason, he’s been into being Chinese these days and is easily offended by people not recognizing his proud heritage. Recently we went to a Vietnamese restaurant for lunch and he took offense because the waitress gave me a pair of chopsticks but handed William a spoon and fork instead. “How could she do that? Didn’t she know that I am a Chinese?” “Half Chinese,” I corrected him. I guess it really bothered him, because he is still grumbling about it a week or two later.

I commend his desire for wanting to be like his father and over family supper tonight I offered him an opportunity to prove that he is really his father’s equal - I challenged him to a peanut-picking competition. William, as you and I know, doesn’t lack confidence as far as competitions are concerned. “Who is better than me?” he burst out, singing his favorite line. “I am!” I bellowed back. The contest went like this: each of us was to transfer fifteen peanuts from one plate to another with chopsticks and the first one to finish the task would win. The results: 15 peanuts to 7. The real Chinese won.

I guess there is at least one thing I can do better than my son. Surprisingly, the victory gave me quite a thrill, considering how small the win was. But a win is a win, and I will take it with pride. By the way, I challenge any one of you to a chopstick-peanut-picking competition if you consider yourself good at the ancient art of chopsticking. “Who is better than me?”