Lumpia, Ballet, 66 Geneva & Jewish Summer Camps - A Child Grows In Frisco

For the record, no true born and bred San Franciscan EVER refers to the city as Frisco. I was trying to come up with a catchy title and the above rolled of my tongue with ease. Please forgive me my fellow San Franciscans :-)

The seeds that have mutated into my insatiable cultural curiosity were firmly planted as a little girl growing up in San Francisco. I've shared with you that my brother and I were born as American children to foreign born parents. This by in large translated to our world view being shaped in a very holistic, anti-xenophobic, inclusive prism. As the only black family in the neighborhood we lived in from 1977 - 2004, (when my father moved), our family was the victim of hate crimes, false accusations and plentiful stereotypes. Given that my parents grew up in black countries, the black vs. white dynamic didn't factor into their psyche. For the record, my mother thought Alvin and I could be ANYTHING we wanted. Case in point, it was clear maybe three months into my life that I would not grow to have a ballerina's physique, HOWEVER, my mother enrolled me in ballet classes. For that matter, she enrolled me in sewing, gymnastics and swimming classes. My brother and I progressed so far in swimming that as elementary and middle school aged children we were proud members of the Daly City Dolphins Swim Team. Every summer Alvin and I attended a Jewish summer camp - Camp Akavah. We were the ONLY two chocolate drops in the bunch. In no time we were able to recite blessings in Hebrew and developed a deep respect for the traditions and history of Judaism. My parents never had the opportunity to explore anything extra-curricular in their younger years. Shoot, the curricular in and of itself was a gift. What they didn't have they were determined to provide for me and Alvin.

In the late 70's through the mid 80's San Francisco Junior Academy was comprised of children whose backgrounds were among others - Haitian, Samoan, Japanese, El Salvadorian, Russian, Filipino, German, Hawaiian, Mexican, Belizean, Panamanian and Chinese. At school we were encouraged to celebrate and indulge in other cultures. Lunchtime and potlucks were an international smorgasbord. To this day I crave lumpia, chilaquiles and eso fafao, right along with roti and curry chicken. While my early school years were rich with diversity, monkey-bars, and the obligatory awkward adolescent moments they also featured rushing waves of social activism with the birth of the gay agenda in the Castro, remnants of the summer of love movement in the Haight-Ashbury, the election of Harvey Milk, the murder of George Moscone, and the numbing disbelief with the mass suicide of 900+ members of Jim Jones San Francisco based People's Temple.

I was raised in a mono-theistic, Judeo-Christian faith. Weekly church attendance was de rigueur - and to be honest, I didn't mind it one bit. While my childhood wasn't perfect and at times I begged and pleaded for God to poof my parents away and give me Heathcliff and Claire Huxtable in their stead - looking back I realize my parents did an exceptional job raising me and my brother. My parents weren't easy. Scratch that - my MOTHER in particular wasn't easy. If she observed me or my brother being wasteful she would remind us that "we weren't workin' anywhere". The luxury of "having our say" was non-existent. My parents were immigrants to this country and their lense was keen on priorities, values and opportunity. Having the latest anything was a joke. Anything superficial was....superficial. What I didn't realize then, but am well aware of now, is that what my parents gave me was a gift. They wanted my brother and I to focus on character, on education, on confidence, on the things that would propel us in life. They realized that the physical, the superficial, the accoutrement would catch up later. Now, I won't say that I haven't put in some time on a therapist's couch, I have. But all in all I am grateful for the role my parents played in me becoming who I am today - a Jesus loving, compassionate, cultured, comical, passionate, family loving woman.

My mother passed away in August of 1999 - she is not privy to these words and this acknowledgement. However, my father, 73 years young, a retired educator and Facebook devotee is. Thank you, Daddy for ALL you've done! For your love, your prayers, your humility, your example, your sacrifice.

*Question for readers: If the adult you are today were able to advise you as a 10 year old - what would you tell him/her? Have you connected the pieces to your life's mosaic? What epiphanies/revelations have you had?

The Ties That Bind

On May 3, 1971, I was introduced to someone who would become one of the most influential people in my life - Alvin Kumeh Chea. Alvin is my big brother, my protector, my reminiscing buddy and my friend. Now, growing up we weren't particularly close. As a matter of fact, a few of years after meeting me (May 3, 1971 was the day I was born) Alvin tried to suffocate me. I guess I had begun my obnoxious little sister stage and he figured he'd had enough. Alvin peppered my life with many memorable experiences. There was the time that he put halloween masks on my poster bed while I was sleeping. I simultaneously woke up and passed out. There was the time that I had made him so mad he punched me in the stomach and knocked the wind out of me (to date that was the only time I've had the wind knocked out of me. I should also mention Alvin was wearing a cast at the time). Yeah, as my mother would say as youngin's "our coocoo didn't boil". Happily I can say that post the beatdown my mother gave him for the Frazier like beatdown he put on me, our siblinghood has been on a constant rising trajectory.

When I was in middle school, Alvin introduced me to Chuck Mangione, Al Jarreau, Spyro Gyra, The Yellowjackets, Stevie Wonder, Earth Wind and Fire, Tom Browne, Boz Scaggs and countless other musicians. I remember jamming to funky basslines, chord changes and rhythm sections with a Quincy Jones like appreciation in the 6th grade. Jamaica Funk drew me in back then and it remains my all time favorite funk jam. Alvin is responsible for making me a music snob.

In June of 1989, my brother managed to complete a double major in English/Communications while traveling the world with the newly formed Take 6. 25 years, 10 Grammy's and countless other awards later my brother continues to accomplish what for most would be daunting. He is a full time husband, full time father, full time Take 6 member, part time law student, full time session singer and voice over artist, men's ministry leader and praise team leader. And no, we're not Jamaican :-)

As a father I liken my brother to a modern day Heathcliff Huxtable, minus the Coogie sweaters and penchant for hoagies. His oldest just turned 19 and his youngest was 2 months old at the writing of this piece. His approach to parenting is steeped in practicality, pragmatism and where the rubber meets the road-isms. My brother is very much his mother's child. Quite often my nephew Cole will ask me a question which more often than not is usually totally off the wall and abstract. Without hesitation I tell him to "go ask your father, he'll know the answer". Guess what, he usually does.

My brother isn't big on words, but when he does speak he is dropping pearls of wisdom and you know his words are thoughtful and sincere. The other day he told me I was a better cook than my mother (my mother was an extraordinary cook). You would have thought both Julia Childs and James Beard had presented me with a culinary honor. With all that my brother has accomplished in life, it would be easy to pick an accolade on which to pin my admiration. Truth is, if my brother weren't a multiple award winning artist I'd still be tickled pink to share the Chea name with him.

Alvin, if you are reading this - know that my love, admiration, support, and awe is unconditional. You are an amazing man, a rendering of the type of man I pray to be joined with one day.

Always-
Cynthia