James Lee

I will never know what it’s like to be a through-and-through American. My birth certificate might say I was born in Boston, and it might be true on paper, but the real ink on my page has always been saffron, green and navy blue. I only truly understood India’s virtues when I turned seven and moved to Bangalore, a sprawling, fast-growing city known as the Silicon Valley of India. Something about the scent of those who are guided by the principles of humility and respect made me feel more connected to my culture than I’d ever been before.
The institution of family is ingrained so deeply into my country’s soul that we wouldn’t exist without it. Right before I was shoved through the door of teenage adolescence, America called my family’s name and back we went. Instantaneously, that credo of familial loyalty crumbled before my eyes and I became an American teenager: embarrassed to hug my mom in public and only willing to call my dad when I needed money.

There’s a culture of disrespect that raises American children, as explained by psychologist Leonard Sax. The movies and television that played every night on Disney portrayed parents as clueless, cruel, irrelevant, absent or just straight-up obstacles on their kids’ path to heroism, love or success (Mulan, Jasmine, Ariel) — so it’s no wonder that American kids who grew up watching these movies and shows are predisposed to hating their parents in their teens.
The rude and rebellious teenager is an inevitable phenomenon here in the States, but in India, when your mom calls, your friends know better than to scream profanity in the background. Teenage rebellion, and its continuance into adulthood, is a Western idea that emerges from individualistic societies. Collectivist societies, such as India and China, focus on family and, more often than not, raise their kids to be respectful.
This isn’t to say non-Western parents are perfect in any way, shape or form — I’m well aware that some immigrant parenting styles have attracted a lot of well-deserved criticism, but there’s something fundamentally flawed about the way American children behave in response to their parents. Whether that’s the fault of parents for not disciplining their kids enough or of kids for not appreciating what their parents sacrifice for them, I don’t know — but it’s something, and it should change. Americans need to treat and speak about their parents more respectfully.
I’m not referring to parents who really should never have become parents, absent parents or careless parents. Instead, I’m referring to parents who are trying their best, and no matter how big the argument is, that fact is irrefutable. We hold our parents to higher standards because it’s their job to coach us and cheer us on from the sidelines, but even the smallest, most rationally forgivable actions (like when mom calls and we’re in class) elicit the most irrational reactions from us. I’ve caught myself stewing in a wave of unwarranted anger when one of my parents makes a mistake I’ve made thousands of times because they’re my parents, and they have to be perfect.
It sucks when parents make mistakes and accidentally hurt us because they’re who we look up to. But as we get closer to the age our parents were when they had us, maybe we can slowly learn to see things from their point of view. Immigrant parents especially, who deal with so much more than will ever be fathomable to their kids, receive the brunt of so much criticism. But as much as immigrant parents compare their kids to their friends’ kids, we do the same right back. Whether implicitly or explicitly, we’ve all wished our parents were more like those of our friends. Is it fair that we hate our parents for doing to us what we do to them?
Immigrant parents are constantly dealing with values they’re unfamiliar with. Adapting to new situations on their own is hard enough, but doing it with a kid who’s kicking and screaming is even harder. Parents are under a lot of pressure to balance being both their kids’ role models and best friends, but these characters often conflict with each other. The metric we judge them by doesn’t account for the fact that they have to discipline us and make us feel comfortable at the same time. Our parents aren’t superheroes, and just as we’re learning, they are too.
I’ve had the privilege of growing up in immigrant communities and enclaves my entire life, so maybe I’m not the most equipped to speak on the topic of truly American families. And from what I’ve experienced through proximity to stereotypical white, Westernized families, I wouldn’t change that for the world. In the words of one of my favorite people ever (Mitski), “Your mother wouldn’t approve of how my mother raised me but I do, I finally do.”
So, all this to say, thank you to my parents. I’m sorry it took me two decades and half my time at college to say it and really mean it, and I’m sorry if I’ve been hard on you. How much you guys have done for me and sacrificed in service of my happiness is insane. As I grow up and become a real person, I swear I’ll work the rest of my life to repay all the love you’ve shown me. I am honored to be your daughter.