summer mom hiatus part two

NEXT STOP: DAN YANG
My mother's side of the family, the Chen clan of Xuzhou, was always a neat and compact group consisting of one aunt, one uncle, one cousin, one grandfather and (up until a few years ago) one grandmother.

My father's side of the family however, the Ouyang clan hailing from Danyang, are a much harder group to pin down. With my grandfather, my step grandmother, my three uncles, my four aunts, my multiple cousins, my cousin's new son, my cousin's wife, her relatives, other step relatives and, finally on top of all that, good family friends who are like relatives, the exact family members I hear/see/find out about on any one trip to Dan Yang always felt like a nebulous, amoeba-like number, constantly in flux.

Since the Chen clan numbers are so diminutive (my cousin has since moved to Beijing and my uncle often goes away on business trips), family activities in Xuzhou consist primarily of slightly staid, intimately small gatherings. Each time I leave Xuzhou, my memories are filled with Polaroid-like pictures of one-on-one interactions - my grandfather showing me how words are conjugated in his latest dictionary, my aunt and my mom sitting together drinking tea, a simple, home cooked meal.

My times in Danyang are infinitely different. A far cry from the quiet snapshot memories from Xuzhou, my Danyang memories flow in a crazy raucous reel of gluttonous feasting and drinking amid an endless stream of rapid chatter in Danyang-tinged Mandarin. Meals melt into conversations melt into family members popping in melt into family members popping out melting into familiar faces melting into soon-to-be familiar faces. The weekend passes in a fast and frenetic and by the time it comes to leave, I'm enveloped in more or less a perpetual food daze and a good ten pounds heavier.

At one of our last family banquets this visit, my Danyang grandfather was asked to make a toast. A slender man with an angular jaw and dramatically heavy eyes, my Danyang grandfather is the polar visual opposite of my soft, jellybean Xuzhou grandfather. Standing up from his chair, Danyang grandfather is pushing 6 foot, tall by Chinese standards. He raises his glass, filled with a blindingly strong homemade wine,and announces with gravity, "I am very happy tonight. I am happy because we are all together, under one roof. There are four generations here and there will be more to come. I feel lucky to be able to see this day. We have been through much but working together we've made it through them. This is the true fortune of having a family. We are together. We are one." The table top shakes as glasses clink on and above it.

Growing up in the States meant that I saw very little of my relatives from either Xuzhou or Danyang. In the decades I spent in another country, I had visited China only a handful of times and most of my communications those relatives were exchanged by way of my parents. During my visits, I couldn't help but always feel a disconnect between me and the rest of my China family. Sure we were related but in terms of how well we knew each other, we might as well have been strangers.

That night, after my grandfather's speech, I looked around the room and felt a new warmth spread through my body. In the smiling faces, I saw my parents, I saw myself, I saw where I came from - the past generations, the new generation and me. And all those years of my parent's telling me about how family is the most important thing you have in your life finally clicked. I felt something that night that ran deeper than just familial obligation. I felt a connection in that room that ran beyond the erasing grasp of time or distance. I felt the connection of of blood.