A book of a different cover
December 31st, 2011I went to the library the other day.
I walked away with two books for me, four for my girl, and a life lesson tucked in my pocket.
So, here’s how it happened: I was hoping to find a room full of children to occupy my youngest daughter, who’s on winter break from school and bored. Instead, I found one woman and one child in a children’s department roaring with silence.
First thought: Oh, look at the cute little blond girl with the Asian woman. She’s the nanny.
Second thought: Shame. Shame. Bad. Bad. As a caucasian mother of an Asian child, where do I get off jumping to conclusions? I hate it when strangers give us the once-over and draw conclusions about our family dynamic. Why judge at all? Yet, there it was, a judgment.
Third Thought: Truth is, I live in an area where it is fairly common to find nannies and au pairs taking their charges to the library for story time. Many times I’ve started talking to who I thought was the mother only to have her wave off my questions explaining: “I’m the nanny.” Sometimes that means: No further questions.
Fourth thought (after I learned they were mother and daughter): We are the exact opposite, yet we have much in common. Although I didn’t ask, I’ll bet she gets a fair share of nosy questions and double-takes about her family dynamic.
Then I stopped thinking and started talking.
It began like this:
“Is your daughter from China?” the woman said from across the room.
“Yes,” I said.
“I am from China,” she said, moving closer and pulling up a chair.
This opened the gates to a flood of questions and answers: What province in China? What city? How long have you been in America? Does your daughter speak Chinese? What is your name in Chinese? What do you do for Chinese New Year?
Before long, we were deep in stories of China, raising multi-cultural children, the best Chinese markets in the neighborhood, and other moms-of-school-aged-children stuff.
At one point, our girls mistook the library for a playground and began running and shrieking between the stacks. The librarian on duty quickly stepped in. I’m sure she had an awkward moment when she attempted to match girl to mother. At first she directed my daughter to the Chinese mother and the blond girl to me, then sensing an error in judgment, quickly switched the girls again.
There was a time when that move would have bothered me deeply. But today, we exchanged knowing glances and shared a good laugh. We had a bonding moment: this wonderful woman from Beijing, me, our two girls and a big empty room filled with books.
Then the two of us mothers gathered our things, slipped into our jackets, and headed our separate ways. She, a dark-haired woman with almond eyes and a yellow-haired child, and I, an American woman with a Chinese-born daughter.
Two books who cannot be judged by our covers.












