Foreign Parents

I remember grade school lunch time in the cafeteria with its long, white tables, where we pulled out our brightly colored, nylon lunch boxes that said "Rubbermaid." I remember especially Mary Layton's lunches, which were elaborate affairs of ham and cheese with the crust neatly trimmed off, homemade, themed cookies (depending on the impending holiday), and most importantly, a loving note on a napkin that said, "Mary Layton, have a great day at school, honey! I love you, Mom." In an era of cooties, Mary Layton would pull out the napkin and look at it with distaste as she wasn't one for emotions and found the note-on-a-napkin fundamentally offensive.

I, on the other hand, was enraptured by this part of American culture. My lunches were nowhere near as elaborate - my sandwiches had a smelly air to them because it was some type of foreign kabob, Americanized with mayonnaise and squished between two pieces of bread. There were no homemade cookies because my mom made kheer and gulab jaman rather than Halloween or X-mas sugar cookies, and there was no note because my mom at the point in her life wasn't all that sappy and didn't really know that that was something American moms did. And so, I spent the better part of grade school completely enamored with Mary Layton's lunches and her mom, the picture of Aryan perfection.

One day, when I was about 20, my mom started leaving notes for me. If my mom had to run errands before I woke up, I found notes that read, "Mariam, I have gone to grocery store. Here is lunch for you [Arrow pointing to food]. I hope you enjoy, I know you are picky. Love you, Mama." I found this to be hopelessly endearing, despite the fact that by now, I was too old for lovey-dovey notes and food on the counter.

Sometimes, my dad would leave notes, too, in a completely post-modern, ironic way, of course. He would write, "Mariam, I love you. I'm proud of you, Abu (Dad)." Of course, the joke was that I hadn't done anything on that particular day to be proud of, but it was just funny to use American family cliches flippantly, just like Willy Loman had in Death of a Salesman.

Last year I got a card from my dad randomly that said, "Dear Mariam, I hope you are doing GREAT. Do not miss mom. Miss me! Missing you, Your Abbu." So cute!

An Eid card from my parents: "Mariam, Eid Greetings. We hope you have a great day [Note: I didn't]. Same message is in Urdu. If not sure, take it to somebody who can translate. From Abbu and Mom, Oct. 20, 2006."

On my birthday, I got home to find a huge package from my parents; I was expecting some medicine that I had run out of, but instead I found magnets and wind chimes from my mom. She included a note on a scrap of paper with a check that said "This check is for your Happy Birthday treat at Red Lobster. Have fun. Love." When I asked my mom about the wind chimes, she merely replied, "Don't you love wind chimes?"

And so, the bottom line is this: my parents are making up for lost time when they didn't leave me cutesy notes in my New Kids on the Block lunch box in elementary school now that I'm approaching adulthood and about to embark on the medical profession. The notes almost have a nostalgic, kitschy quality that remind me of a bygone era; at the same time, my parents are satirizing American familial cliches that have been popularized by family sitcoms a la Full House, where Mr. Tanner says at the end of the half hour, "I'm proud of you D.J. and I love you!" or "We all mistakes honey, even parents." As I have come to realize, real love is shown by actions not just a mere note scribbled on a paper napkin.

--by Mariam, who apparently loves wind chimes.