I Was Nine When a Teacher Asked Me Which Side My Family Was On During the Vietnam War

An organization staffed almost entirely by immigrants and first-generation Americans, we at GrubStreet are as keenly aware of the sheer breadth of "the immigrant experience" as we are the crucial contribution immigrants make to American arts, culture, and society. In defiance of an ethics of exclusion, we’re curating a series of immigrant stories that celebrate and illuminate the plurality of immigrant life. This installment comes from writer Tram Mai Tran.

 

 

I decided I wouldn’t like American food, as the taste of canned peaches lingered on my tongue, when we landed in Seattle. But within my first year in the U.S., I embraced pizza and marshmallows. Dragging my parents through the Wal-Mart aisle, I demanded they buy peanut butter and jelly, cheese, ham, and all the things that blonde American girls ate. Those girls eventually became my friends, and I was even invited to my first sleepover, though my mother picked me up before ten pm and I cried hysterically. Those girls taught me about curse words, Nancy Drew and Jesus, and I slowly cast aside legends of the dragon lord and quests of the monkey king and learned to be white.

 

When I was growing up in that small town, those labels—“immigrant,” “Asian,” “Vietnamese”—had been an embarrassment at best and a shame at worst. I was nine when a teacher asked me which side my family was on during the Vietnam War. A classmate added letters to my name and made it into a bad word after I was listed on the honor roll for the first time. A boy didn’t want to shake my hand at church because I had small, yellow, alien fingers.

 

After meeting fellow Asians, immigrants, and Vietnamese people in college and beyond, I’ve never felt prouder of who I am. Now, I braise catfish and add extra ketchup to my burger, sing along to Vietnamese pop songs and Taylor Swift, wear an ao dai and a white dress at my wedding, while constantly searching for a home that will be able to hold the many identities that I’ve shed, lost, and accumulated.

 

 

 

Mai Tran and her family immigrated to the United States from Vietnam. She has lived in many different parts of Florida and Boston. She enjoys hiking, writing, playing with her puppy and teaching English as a Second Language.

 

 

Click here to read more from the Immigrant Stories series.