I fell in love with the minister’s son the winter I turned fourteen. He was not Chinese. For Christmas I prayed for this blonde-haired boy, Robert, and a slim new a slim new American nose.When I found out that my parents had invited the minister’s family over for Christmas Eve dinner, I cried. What would Robert think of our shabby[2]) Chinese Christmas? What would he think of our noisy Chinese relatives who lacked proper American manners? What terrible disappointments would he feel upon seeing not a roasted turkey and sweet potatoes but Chinese food?On Christmas Eve I saw my mother had outdone[3]) herself in creating a strange menu. She was pulling black veins[4]) out of the backs of fleshy prawns. The kitchen was littered with appalling mounds of raw food: A slimy[5]) rock cod with bulging[6]) eyes that pleaded not to be thrown into the pan of hot oil. Tofu, which looked like stacked wedges[7]) of rubbery white sponges[8]). A bowl soaking dried fungus[9]) back to life. A plate of squid[10]), their backs crisscrossed[11]) with knife markings so they resembled bicycle tires.And then they arrived — the minister’s family and all my relatives in a clamor[12]) of doorbells and rumpled Christmas packages. Robert grunted[13]) hello, and I pretended he was not worthy of existence.Dinner threw me deeper into despair. My relatives licked the ends of their chopsticks and reached across the table, dipping them into the dozen or so plates of food. Robert and his family waited patiently for platters[14]) to be passed to them. My relatives murmured with pleasure when my mother brought out the whole steamed fish. Robert grimaced[15]). Then my father poked his chopsticks just below the fish eye and plucked out the soft meat. “Amy, your favorite,” he said, offering me the tender fish cheek. I wanted to disappear.At the end of the meal my father leaned back and belched[16]) loudly, thanking my mother for her fine cooking. “It’s a polite Chinese custom to show you are satisfied,” explained my father to our astonished guests. Robert was looking down at his plate with a reddish face. The minister managed to muster up a quiet burp[17]). I was stunned into silence for the rest of the night.After everyone had gone, my mother said to me, “You want to be the same as American girls on the outside.” She handed me an early gift. It was a miniskirt in beige[18]) tweed[19]). “But inside you must always be Chinese. You must be proud you are different. Your only shame is to have shame.”And even though I didn’t agree with her then, I knew she understood how much I had suffered during the evening’s dinner. It wasn’t until years later — long after I had gotten over my crush[20]) on Robert — that I was able to fully appreciate her lesson and the purpose behind our particular menu. For Christmas Eve that year, she had chosen all my favorite foods.