Shanghai, the self proclaimed “Paris of the East,” does not rank high on the list for backpackers, as it is a bustling metropolis, filled with enough high priced restaurants and hotels to compete against any city, back home, in The States. Additionally, Shanghai was one of the cities I visited six years ago, on my previous trip to China, so I debated on leaving it out of this itinerary. Ultimately, the decision to visit Shanghai, was not based on the skyscrapered skyline of the Pudong area, a stroll down the Bund, or a visit to the historic French Quarter, but rather it was an opportunity to spend sometime with my family and to hopefully get some personal history.
Purely coincidental, my mom’s: brothers (2), sisters (2) and mother (my grandmother), along with my sister, cousin, and a couple of aunts, were touring through China, the same month that I would be there. I decided to schedule my visit to Shanghai, at the end of their tour, so that I could spend a few days with the fam and get some information about our family’s past. For some reason, not sure if its Asian cultural thing or not, they never really talked about the past. Sure they talked about the tough times, and how they had to walk to school about 10km, in the monsoon, with no jacket, and up hills both ways, but I never heard the stories of how their life was before Taiwan.
I knew that my mom and most of her siblings were born in China, specifically Shanghai, and that they immigrated, or rather escaped to Taiwan, when the Communist Party took power in 1949, but details beyond that was never discussed. During the past couple years, when my grandmother visited the States, I would try to probe and ask about our family’s past, where did she grow up, what was life like back then, what did my great grandmother/grandfather do, who were my great great grandparents… When I intially asked these questions, a couple years ago, my grandmother, would give me a funny look, and just pretend that my Chinese was incomprehensible and that the language barrier would be to great to hold a conversation with me. But as I continued to ask, each and everytime she visited, she finally started to break down and give me some of our families past. So, now with basically my mom’s whole family there in one spot, along with my grandmother, in the place that it basically all started, and hoping that they would feel nostalgic, it was my chance of a lifetime to get the history of where I came from.
Quick sidenote, its interesting how things all come together, even before this trip I was interested in my family’s history, but while traveling through Europe it really emphasized the importance of personal history, as least for me. Everywhere from Russia to Germany, Belgrade to Turkey, Poland to Egypt, understanding history from places to buildings to culture to people, explains their similarities and differences. It is what helps make each place unique and special, to understand the tragedies and its glories, is not to only mourn and celebrate the past, but rather more important to learn from it, and often helps explain the culture/habits/thinking of the local area. But to bring it closer to home, it is that we all seem to know the history/past of the famous/infamous, the rich, the heros, the villans, but what about ourselves? There are walking tours in Berlin and Munich that discusses the life of Hitler, with explaination of timelines of the Third Reich, and hypothesis on what may have happened if he was accepted into art school at Vienna, and even how his dog was posioned. In Egypt, you learn about all the Phoarahs from thousands of years ago. But how far back, can you tell me about your family’s history: what was their name, what did they do for a living, where did they live, grow up or born, how many siblings did they have, what were their hobbies… It constantly amazed me that we had such good accounts of particular people, but knew so little about oursleves. Maybe its just a selfish desire to establish a legacy, but I feel bad that I don’t know more about my ancestors, and it makes me think that in just less than a couple generations after my own death, my grandkids would never know about me and where they came from, as they will likely be on the otherside of the world from where their their great great grandmother (my mom) was born. So with that I bought my overnight train ticket to Shanghai, on a mission to find out about my family’s past.
The following, is really written much more for me, and probably in hopes for my kids and their kids, so I hope you don’t find it too boring.
Intially when I started the inquisition into the family’s past, my grandmother would play along, but be brief with her answers. Then my uncle got fustrated and asked why I was probing, I think in defense of my grandmother, at which I explained the reason for my curiosity, and since we never heard it from them, I had to skip to the source. What I found out amazed me: the reason that many of my uncles and aunts never told us about our ancestors, was that they did not know all the facts, themselves. Again, not sure if its a cultural thing or just our family, but they really didn’t ask to many questions, and after leaving China, they only looked straight ahead. It turns out, that my great great grandfather was a local doctor in a town somewhere in central China. He had a couple kids, one of which was my great grandfather, which in my great great grand dad’s eyes was destined to be a doctor, but my great grandfather did not agree. The story goes: my great grandfather was a smart guy, and was approached by one of his close friends to take the military entrance exam on his friend’s behalf, for this he would pay him a fee, as if you scored high, it determined your rank and position in the military. My grandfather with nothing to lose, agreed and studied for the test. When he was ready to take the test, he notified his friend, that he changed his mind and would put his own name on the test, instead of his friend’s. During this time, my great grandfather told his dad, that he had no interest in becoming a doctor, and immediately left home, before he would be kicked out anyways. The interesting things, was that he was married, and as with the culture at that time, his wife stayed at the in-laws (his parent’s house), since the marriage was arranged between the parents and not with the kids.
When the test score came back it was sent to his father’s house, at which time my great great grandfather saw how well his son placed, and immediately accepted him back into the family. My great grandfather, was now in the military as a high ranking officer of the Kuomintang (KMT) aka the Chinese Nationalist Party, under the leadership of Chiang Kai-shek. At the time of the 1949 defeat by the Communist Party, my great grandfather was the head of purchasing for KMT, and called in some favors to evacuate his family immediately on-board a cargo ship bound for Taiwan. The trade off was that he and his family was to leave their comfortable life behind, gone were their personal servants (at this point, I looked at my mom, aunts and uncles, and reminded them the stories of the humble beginnnings), and even a personal driver, but if they stayed, death was eminent. When they arrived at Taiwan, they started a new life, my great grandfather still had connections, and used them to establish the best he could for my great grandmother (his second wife, as his first passed, as he started his military campaign), and his family, including my grandmother who at the time was 28, married with four kids, and one on the way. From this point, my aunts started filling in some of the blanks, as they were now as excited and possibly more excited than me to talk about our family’s history. It took me a few days and nights to get the history of my ancestors, but the pay off was soon to follow, first was when one of my aunts, personally thanked me for inquirying, as she said that she never even knew any of what we just had learned, and was shocked that my grandmother had opened up as she did. So with that, I got some more info about my great grandparents, about how they met, their childhood, their life back in China, and wrote down some notes to find out more when I reach Taiwan, and have some one on one time with my grandmother and aunt.
The surprise, came when the tables cleared, and the family history discussion basically wrapped up. My mom, was surprised by line of questioning, but I think happy, and asked me how much I really knew and remembered of early childhood. This has been something that has been rarely discussed, but we all knew that we remembered it vividly. Most of you all know, but in case you don’t, the reason I have a Japanese last name of Hiramoto, is because I was adopted by my dad/father, technically my stepfather, who was of Japanese decent, born and raised in Hawaii. So when I say dad or father, I am referring to the man who raised, taught, and influenced me, and not the biological. My mom and dad, married in an awkward fashion, as they agreed to marry even before they had ever met. At that time, we were still in Taiwan, with the biological, who by the way was not the nicest man. My eldest uncle at this time, was already in the States and working at a manufacturing plant with my soon to be dad. My other uncle brought news to the States that their sister (my mom) had a terrible situation back home and really needed to get away, so my eldest uncle approached his friend with the proposition of a free round trip ticket to Taiwan, and alittle cash, if he could marry his sister, so that she could escape to the New World. This much of the story, I knew, and remembered. I still recall, the first time I met my dad, and was told to call him: “Uncle Joe”, I remembered being excited to move to the otherside of the world from the biological, I remember the flight to the different and new world, I still remember arriving that first night, and not understanding all the noise and words that surrounded me. What I didn’t know was that I was not part of the plan.
Apparently, when the pact was made, it was agreed by all parties, including the biological (since they were seperating) that my mom would bring one of her two kids. It appeared that everyone basically assumed that the one that would go to the States would be the second (me), as with Chinese culture, and as the case with the biological, that the first born especially a son, was special and revered. As my brother was much more favored by the biological, everyone just assumed that he would want the oldest son to stay behind with him, and have the younger one go. But to the surprise of my mother, he said that he wanted her to take the oldest son, so that he could have more oppurtunities in the New World. But, unknown to him the reason for the escape, was not only for her to get away from him, but just as important was to get the second son, me, away from him, as well. This of course caused quite the predictament. So, when my mom and dad, finally met for the first time, and with very little common words between them (he with only English and her with Chinese), she was some how able to communicate to him, the problem with leaving the second son behind, and the questionable future that laid ahead if he stayed with the biological. That is when, this man, this stranger, became my dad, my father. He said, its an easy solution, we just take the both of them. And that his how my life completely changed, and I came to the States. So when I use the words: dad and father to differentiate with biological, it not ill feelings or bitterness towards the man with whom I share DNA, but rather a show of respect and admiration for a man who took on the responsibility of being a parent, raising a child to someone who I hope he would be proud to call a man, today.
So to him, I say, and hope he can hear me from above: Thanks, Dad.
