Treasure in My Pocket
My father, Mendek Rubin, grew up in a little town in Poland between the two world wars. When my daughter interviewed him for an elementary school project about immigration and asked him what surprised him most when he first came to America, he answered, “I couldn’t believe that people ate dessert every day and didn’t think anything of it.” Growing up, everyone he knew only had dessert on Saturdays. It was always very special, and every single bite was savored.
In another interview for school, my dad told my young son about the games he and his cousins used to play in the courtyard of their shared home. “We’d dig a hole in the ground and roll a ball toward it. Whoever managed to get the ball in the hole the most times was the winner. Sometimes we’d toss beans into the hole instead.”
My father continued to muse, “We had fun and never expected new or better toys. But what would have happened if we’d compared ourselves to others and found our toys deficient? Our joy would have been replaced by envy, and the result would have been dissatisfaction.”
Mendek’s family home in Jaworzno, Poland
I thought about my dad’s stories when I read the following poems by Alice Tao—the gifted poet I introduced two weeks ago in Let Your Light Shine—who published her first book of poetry at 88.
Alice was born in China in 1935. She and her family survived World War II and the communist takeover before escaping to Hong Kong in 1949. She immigrated to America in 1959—first to Boston, then to California.
The photo below, taken in 2018 during Alice’s first visit back to China, shows her in front of her original family home. Alice wrote, “After seven decades away, speaking my childhood dialect again brought immeasurable joy. In an instant, the distance of time and space evaporated, and a sense of belonging returned.”
The following poems from Alice’s book, My River gently flows, served to heighten my awareness of my substantial privilege, and to spark a renewed sense of gratitude for the generations that came before me, as well as for the simpler things in life.
Treasure in My Pocket
By Alice K. Tao
Eight years old
I’m wearing my Chinese jacket
with a hidden pocket
sewn on the inside flap.
In it my precious pebbles,
a set of five to play jacks
with my friends.
I find my best oval stones
by driplines under eaves,
rain-washed.
A brand-new Nintendo in his hand
my grandson interviews me
for his Ancestry Report at school.
Nainai, what was your favorite toy?
How much did it cost?
To show him I toss up a coin,
grab another from the floor
before catching the one in the air.
Then two, three, four airborne.
My hand and fingers, nimble
still, with my favorite toy.
Baby Alice held by her mother
Head for the Lights
One immigrant’s story, by Alice K. Tao
There is no wrong way, no right way
there is no sure way to get there.
They just know there’s a there there.
Buddies, all young and afraid of nothing
shielded by darkness, they climb over hills
swim across rivers, tumble down boulders.
Twice caught and sent home by border guards
they repeat their escape attempts months later.
No obstacle can block them from a new life.
Subsisting on crackers and rice balls with soy sauce
they hide and sleep during the day, trek and swim
at night, chewing white peppercorns to keep warm.
Can’t swim? Friends push him on a life saver made
of a plastic bag. No map is needed. Just crawl out
of the dim pall and head for Macau’s casino lights.
Relatives hire fishing boats to smuggle them
into Hong Kong. They pour their energy into jobs
as porter, waiter, apprentice to the head chef.
For this immigrant, the goal is to come to America.
With his aunt’s help, he arrives in California
to work his way up in restaurants to owning one.
His children are honor students at a private school
college bound. When he retells his story, they roll
their eyes: “Dad, now is not then, here is not China.”
Alice’s book, My River gently flows, is available from River House Books in Carmel, California. (831) 626-2665.
