Earlier in the week, my 6th grader came home waving a piece of paper and announced “I got another A+ for my poem today!”

“Congratulations!” I beamed.

“Our assignment this time was to write a poem about bravery. So, I wrote a poem about bullying. And it was inspired by you! ” 11-year-old continued, “So, here. Read it!”

Anti Bully poem

I took the piece of paper in my hand, and read the poem as instructed.

Diblet the Coward

There was once a mean kid
Who bullied us all.
He was really scary,
And his name was Diblet Nall.

He called us bad names–
The Worst of them all.
He tripped us so much,
Many times did we fall.

Some kids stood up to him,
Mighty and tall.
I shrank away,
Frightened and small.

I was always the first
To run from Diblet Nall.
But Once I saw him
Punching my little brother, Paul.

And everyone watched,
Totally enthralled,
As I picked up a stick
And charged Diblet Nall.

I pushed him with it hard,
And screamed, “Go away!”
Scurrying like a little mouse,
Diblet Nall obeyed.

The next time he came,
We just shoved him aside.
For now we knew
What he was inside.

I was deeply surprised that my child chose this particular incident as inspiration to write about bravery. This poem was indeed based on one of my more memorable bullying experiences. Except it didn’t have a happy ending. My child assigned the poem a triumphant and happy ending that conforms to all Hollywood films and most modern-day tales. In reality, this incident ended sadly for me.

When my family immigrated to America in 1982, we moved into my grandma and uncle’s low-income apartment in Los Angeles. It was a nice apartment, much, much nicer and more spacious than the tiny one-bedroom apartment my family shared back in China. And grandma’s apartment had a nice kitchen, a refrigerator full of food, and a small pantry full of yummy snacks for the grand kids. Best of all, the apartment had its own bathroom with hot water anytime of the day. I liked living there. The problem was going outside.

My little sister, cousin, and I were the only Chinese kids in the complex. We were the three little mice of the complex, the other kids that lived in this complex were our cats, and there were about 15 of them. Whenever we needed some fresh air, we liked to go outside and play at the small playground area right by our building. It had a simple slide, and two swings that made awful squeaking noises. Once outside, we tip-toed around, and were on constant look out. If we saw or heard the other kids, we always ran back to our building fast, or else, they would chase us down, run us over, and eat us alive.

One gray and blustery fall afternoon, I was walking home from my Jr. High School. As I approached my building, I heard children screaming and shouting. My little sister and my cousin attended our local elementary, and they usually arrived home just a little earlier than me. Instinctively, I quickened my steps.

As my building came into view, I saw a group of 7 or 8 kids blocking the door to my building, circling my sister and cousin, hitting them and shoving and them around in the middle, as the two frightened children tried desperately and hopelessly to get inside the building to home.

I felt anger. I looked around, and saw a stick laying on the grass. It was a tree branch that had fallen on the ground. I picked it up, raised the stick high up, charged at the group, and screamed at the top of my lungs, “Ahhhhhh!!!”

I felt like a warrior in the movies, ready to fight to the death.

My action took the other kids by surprise. And I let my stick fall onto those bullies mercilessly and randomly. Two kids yelped at the pain, and took off running holding on to their arms, and all the other kids took off after them with their tales between their legs.

My sister, cousin, and I were left stunned. We had no idea that fighting back can produce such swift and EASY victory. And this was better than the victories I had fantasied about in my free time.

I tossed the stick aside, and we walked to our apartment together feeling happy.

Our celebration was short lived. 10 or 15 minutes after the incident, our doorbell was run rudely in quick succession. My Aunt who was in the kitchen, opened the door quickly.

A tearful small boy, and an angry woman were at the door.

My former bully was a wretched sorry sight. His one hand was clutched tightly in his mother’s hand, and he used the back of his free hand to wipe his tears and a snotty nose.

He pointed me out, and said something in Spanish to his mother in between his sobs.

His mother spoke to my Aunt loudly and combativly.

My Aunt asked me if I had hit this boy.

I answered yes, and quickly added, that it was because this boy and his friends were hitting my sister and my cousin first. And added, that it was them who were always terrorizing us. It was declared loud enough for the woman to hear.

My Aunt went back to the woman, and they had more unpleasant talk, with the angry woman waving her finger in my Aunt’s face, at me, and at her son’s arm.

My Aunt turned and asked me to apologize to the boy. I was stunned for a second time on that day. And I refused.

My Aunt was not happy with me. But she turned to the duo at the door, mustered her best smile, lowered her head, and apologized to the woman and her boy repeatedly.

The woman was not gracious. She barked at us some more. Then they left.

My Aunt didn’t like the treatment she just received, and rightfully took it out on me. She yelled at me for having hurt that boy.

It was disheartening. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks uncontrollably that day. We finally fought back and won. Only to have the bully’s mom to come and bully us some more.

As an adult, I suffer no real emotional drawback from such unpleasant experiences. Except, as I read my child’s proud and triumphant poem, I feel a certain bitterness. And whenever I read in the news about bullying, I often find myself wondering about the bully’s parents. The people responsible for raising such mean-spirited kids.

Like most people, I don’t like bullies, but I hold a special dislike towards the bully’s parents. I despise the bully’s parents.

Related previous blog: Wacky Family

“I bought crabs for dinner!!” I announced as soon as I pushed open our front door last Sunday late afternoon.

“Yeah!” The kids came running. Our whole family loves eating crabs.

“They were on sale: $5.99 a pound.” me.

I count dungeness crab as one of the benefits of living in the Bay Area. We always seem to have an endless supply of these crabs, and they are often on sale at my favorite Chinese grocery store during the Fall season.

Crab Feast

Inside the sink, the three crabs frantically clawed at the sink and at each other causing a minor commotion.

My two children came to watch them, as I prepared a large pot with water at the other side of my double sink.

“Why do you always have to buy them alive?” 10-year-old.

“Because I am Asian. And Asians like to see their seafood alive and kicking before eating them.” me, deploying the excuse of embracing tradition. The more practical reason could be that they don’t sell dead crabs at the Chinese grocery stores, and it makes no sense to buy those frozen dead ones in regular super markets at double the price!

“When I grow up, I won’t be cooking crabs for my kids.” my baby blurted out, while looking on at the miserable crabs, which were slowing their movements in the sink.

“Why?” me. My children love eating crabs. We all do. Many of our happy family meal memories were made around eating crabs. It takes a long time to properly consume crabs, they are difficult food.

“I can’t put a live crab in hot water, and watch it die!” 8-year-old.

I had to pause my crab preparation business, to address the grave matter that my future grand children’s culinary heritage faced extinction.

I dried both of my hands with the kitchen towel. I put both of my hands on my baby’s shoulders, looked the child in the eye, and asked, “Do you still remember the “circle of life” from the Lion King?” (I recently took the kids to the see re-make of the Lion King in 3D).

The child nodded.

Without looking away, I pointed at the sink, and said un-apologetically, “They are crabs. This is what happens to crabs, because they are born that low into our food chain!”

Lion king roared the P.E.T.A. Sentiment away. And we went on to enjoy another memorable happy family dinner.

If you can stomach boiling crustaceans alive, here is my secret recipe.

Preparing crab is actually extremely easy–you just need to know how to boil water. The “secret” part of this recipe is the sauce that I make from scratch, which I consider to be the best part of my crab feast. Everyone that has tried it, has complimented me on it, and no one has ever begged me for melted butter to eat their crab. Not even my kids, who love butter as much as ice cream.

Ingredients:

1) Live crabs. (One crab per person, two young kids can share one large crab.)
2) Cilantro
3) Ginger
4) Soy sauce
5) Sugar
6) Vinegar
7) Olive oil

Optional ingredients:

1) Chopped garlic
2) A dash of sesame oil

Preparation:

Crab:

* Fill a large pot with 2/3 water, and bring it to boil. (I also like to throw in a couple of large slices of ginger in the water)

* Place one crab at a time into the boiling pot of water.
Tip: Use the tongs and put the crab into the water upside down (with the stomach and claws facing up), the crab will go into the water without much struggle this way, and ensure a quick demise.

*Boil the crab at high temperature for 15 minutes. Then remove the crab to a large plate
Tip: You will boil the crab with the cover partially covering the pot most of the time, to keep the boiling water from overflowing outside of the pot.

*Using the same water, repeat the above to boil additional crabs.

Sauce:

*Finely chop the ginger and cilantro.

*Prepare one small bowl of sauce per person.

*Add one teaspoon of chopped ginger and one teaspoon of cilantro into each bowl

*Add 1 to 1.5 teaspoons of sugar

*Add 2 tablespoons of soy sauce

*Add 1 to 1.5 tablespoons of dark vinegar

*Add 2 to 3 tablespoons of water

*Add 1 teaspoon of extra virgin olive oil

*optional: Add 1 teaspoon of chopped garlic and a dash of sesame oil

*Mix well to be sure to dissolve the sugar.

I rarely use exact measurements in my cooking, so the above measurements are my best guess; feel free to vary the amount of the ingredients according to your own taste.

I like to serve it with bread and butter and my favorite beer–Corona light with a slice of lime.

Crab served with bread and butter, with cold beer

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