Jian Ping's column
Marvin Kwong: An ordinary life
Marvin Kwong: An ordinary life
By Jian Ping
My father-in-law Marvin recently passed away. He was 86. After fighting a long battle with a number of
ailments, including diabetes and high blood pressure, he succumbed in a hospital in San Francisco. My
husband Francis and I flew from Chicago to the West Coast to attend his funeral.
Despite knowing Marvin for more than a decade, I had never exchanged more than a few simple
sentences in English with him. He spoke Taishan dialect and Cantonese, which might as well be Spanish
or Italian to my ears, for I don’t speak any of the Chinese dialects rampant in southern China. I came from
the northeast of China and Mandarin is the standard language. While I communicated with the rest of
Francis’ extended family in English, I had no common language with Marvin. Despite having immigrated to
the U.S. for more than 40 years, Marvin didn’t speak much English at all. Each year, when we gathered
together for the holidays in San Francisco, he greeted me with a big smile and a warm handshake. “Good
morning,” “Please sit,” or “Eat more,” were among the few phrases he managed to speak to me in English.
We often went to Chinese restaurants to eat at those large family gatherings. Marvin always dressed up
with a jacket and enjoyed being at the center of the table. He always had a good appetite and from time to
time, he would point his chopsticks at a delicious dish and urged me to have more. I would smile and
comply. He was a loving grandfather. At special occasions or Chinese New Year, he would hand out the
traditional red envelops that were stuffed with money to each of his grandchildren. He smiled happily as his
grandchildren took turns thanking him with a hug.
My father-in-law Marvin recently passed away. He was 86. After fighting a long battle with a number of
ailments, including diabetes and high blood pressure, he succumbed in a hospital in San Francisco. My
husband Francis and I flew from Chicago to the West Coast to attend his funeral.
Despite knowing Marvin for more than a decade, I had never exchanged more than a few simple
sentences in English with him. He spoke Taishan dialect and Cantonese, which might as well be Spanish
or Italian to my ears, for I don’t speak any of the Chinese dialects rampant in southern China. I came from
the northeast of China and Mandarin is the standard language. While I communicated with the rest of
Francis’ extended family in English, I had no common language with Marvin. Despite having immigrated to
the U.S. for more than 40 years, Marvin didn’t speak much English at all. Each year, when we gathered
together for the holidays in San Francisco, he greeted me with a big smile and a warm handshake. “Good
morning,” “Please sit,” or “Eat more,” were among the few phrases he managed to speak to me in English.
We often went to Chinese restaurants to eat at those large family gatherings. Marvin always dressed up
with a jacket and enjoyed being at the center of the table. He always had a good appetite and from time to
time, he would point his chopsticks at a delicious dish and urged me to have more. I would smile and
comply. He was a loving grandfather. At special occasions or Chinese New Year, he would hand out the
traditional red envelops that were stuffed with money to each of his grandchildren. He smiled happily as his
grandchildren took turns thanking him with a hug.
I knew very little of him. I would learn from Francis and his siblings that they didn’t know
much about him either. Marvin was a quiet man and very much a loner. He was adopted by
Francis’s grandfather as a child because the family didn’t have a son. He lived with his new
family in a village in Taishan, not far from Canton, or in today’s term, Guangzhou, in southern
China. Francis’s grandfather owned shops and land and because of that, was labeled as landlord,
the target of the revolution when Mao’s communists took over the country in 1949. In the
following few years, one after another, most of the family members fled to Hong Kong. They
survived, but having lost everything, they lived in poverty.
With five young children to support, Marvin bought fake identification papers and came to the
U.S. He was in his forties then, without much education or a word of English. For fifteen years, he
worked at odd jobs alone in the U.S., mostly at Chinese restaurants, and sent money home. No
one knew how much hardship he had endured during this time. He had never talked about his
experiences nor had he complained. From the addresses of his letters home, they saw he worked
from the West Coast all the way to the Midwest, and eventually back to the West to settle in San
Francisco. He managed to provide for the family. He was a proud man. There were times when he
lost his job, he never claimed unemployment. Francis and his siblings started helping their
mother to paint small handicrafts at home to make ends meet at a very young age.
Marvin missed all years of his children’s growing up. By the time they came to the U.S., they were
young adults. Almost immediately, they took off for college or work. They never had spent much
time with him.
At his wake, for the first time I saw a picture of him in his forties. He wore a suit and a tie. A
pair of black-rim glasses made his handsome face looked more like a college professor. All his
five children and their respective family members gathered around him. The large room at the
much about him either. Marvin was a quiet man and very much a loner. He was adopted by
Francis’s grandfather as a child because the family didn’t have a son. He lived with his new
family in a village in Taishan, not far from Canton, or in today’s term, Guangzhou, in southern
China. Francis’s grandfather owned shops and land and because of that, was labeled as landlord,
the target of the revolution when Mao’s communists took over the country in 1949. In the
following few years, one after another, most of the family members fled to Hong Kong. They
survived, but having lost everything, they lived in poverty.
With five young children to support, Marvin bought fake identification papers and came to the
U.S. He was in his forties then, without much education or a word of English. For fifteen years, he
worked at odd jobs alone in the U.S., mostly at Chinese restaurants, and sent money home. No
one knew how much hardship he had endured during this time. He had never talked about his
experiences nor had he complained. From the addresses of his letters home, they saw he worked
from the West Coast all the way to the Midwest, and eventually back to the West to settle in San
Francisco. He managed to provide for the family. He was a proud man. There were times when he
lost his job, he never claimed unemployment. Francis and his siblings started helping their
mother to paint small handicrafts at home to make ends meet at a very young age.
Marvin missed all years of his children’s growing up. By the time they came to the U.S., they were
young adults. Almost immediately, they took off for college or work. They never had spent much
time with him.
At his wake, for the first time I saw a picture of him in his forties. He wore a suit and a tie. A
pair of black-rim glasses made his handsome face looked more like a college professor. All his
five children and their respective family members gathered around him. The large room at the
(Above) Marvin Kwong’s photo at his
funeral
funeral
mortuary where his body lay in a coffin was filled with more than two dozens of large flower wreaths, made of orchids, lilies, and roses in
different sizes and colors. They filled the room with a sweet and soothing fragrance. One after another, his children and grandchildren went up
to his body and bowed to him. As I watched them, I realized how much he had achieved — his children had all emerged from poverty and are
successful professionals in different fields, with two having obtained Ph.Ds. And all his seven grandchildren had either graduated from
college, currently enrolled in college, or were college bound. I couldn’t help but wonder what his life would have been if he had the
opportunity for a good education.
His life was that of a first generation immigrant who made tremendous sacrifices to enable their children to have a better life. And they
did, receiving good education and eventually launching successful careers.
I went up to him and bowed three times. He looked peaceful and content in his dark blue tranditional Chinese style outfit. He had his favorite
hat on and another one of his liking placed next to his pillow. As was the tradition, Francis and I followed his older siblings and put a thin silk
blanket over him, a symbol of comfort and warmth to accompany him in his next life.
In a touching eulogy, Francis talked about his father with emotion.
“Father worked hard all his life,” Francis said. “We didn’t grow up with him, but we learned the values of hard work and loyalty to family
from him.”
Sylvia, one of his granddaughters, played “Amazing Grace” and “Shenandoah” on her flute at his funeral. As the music filled the room, I
felt that the mourning for his loss was turned into a celebration of his life. My emotions went up and down with the melodies and tears ran
down my face — for Marvin and the beauty of his life continued through his descendants.
Marvin lived an ordinary life, but a life to be proud of, appreciated, and remembered.
Jian Ping is author of “Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China.” For more information, please visit www.mulberrychild.com and www.
smearedtype.com.
different sizes and colors. They filled the room with a sweet and soothing fragrance. One after another, his children and grandchildren went up
to his body and bowed to him. As I watched them, I realized how much he had achieved — his children had all emerged from poverty and are
successful professionals in different fields, with two having obtained Ph.Ds. And all his seven grandchildren had either graduated from
college, currently enrolled in college, or were college bound. I couldn’t help but wonder what his life would have been if he had the
opportunity for a good education.
His life was that of a first generation immigrant who made tremendous sacrifices to enable their children to have a better life. And they
did, receiving good education and eventually launching successful careers.
I went up to him and bowed three times. He looked peaceful and content in his dark blue tranditional Chinese style outfit. He had his favorite
hat on and another one of his liking placed next to his pillow. As was the tradition, Francis and I followed his older siblings and put a thin silk
blanket over him, a symbol of comfort and warmth to accompany him in his next life.
In a touching eulogy, Francis talked about his father with emotion.
“Father worked hard all his life,” Francis said. “We didn’t grow up with him, but we learned the values of hard work and loyalty to family
from him.”
Sylvia, one of his granddaughters, played “Amazing Grace” and “Shenandoah” on her flute at his funeral. As the music filled the room, I
felt that the mourning for his loss was turned into a celebration of his life. My emotions went up and down with the melodies and tears ran
down my face — for Marvin and the beauty of his life continued through his descendants.
Marvin lived an ordinary life, but a life to be proud of, appreciated, and remembered.
Jian Ping is author of “Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China.” For more information, please visit www.mulberrychild.com and www.
smearedtype.com.