Puerto Rico holds my earliest memories. As the children of Chinese immigrants, we grew up speaking Cantonese at home. The front of our home in Rio Piedras hosted my father’s restaurant. Unfortunately, we didn’t learn Spanish at home, save for a few moments of talking to the patrons at the restaurant. By the time we enrolled in school, we needed to learn a new language. Initially, we didn’t realize that the words we knew for trivial things like ‘shoe’ were different.
I believe that my parents enrolled me in school a year early. I’m not sure if they wanted to give me a head start or simply wanted me out of their hair during the day. I’m pretty sure that I failed that class and needed to repeat. No harm, though; I landed in the class where my classmates were mostly my age. While I could speak the language, I was still the only Chinese student in my modestly sized class.