The Book That Helped Me Understand My Mother

I lost my mother at a relatively young age. She passed away from cancer two weeks after I turned 21, just as I was emerging from difficult teenage years. I’ve always wondered how our relationship would’ve been different if we had known each other when we were both adults. It feels like I missed out, like listening to a record that was cut off in mid-song.

My mother grew up in a small village in southern China and immigrated to Canada in the early 1960s. Like many others, she came to this country with hopes of making a better life for herself and, eventually, her family. I, on the other hand, was born at St. Michael’s Hospital in downtown Toronto, and came of age in the 1980s, watching music videos on CityTV’s The Power Hour!

My mother and I often clashed because of cultural differences. It was difficult for both of us, especially as I became a teenager. Back then, we didn’t have movies like Crazy Rich Asians or shows like Kim’s Convenience that explored and explained Asian culture in North America. To me, my mother’s beliefs seemed random and arbitrary, and I resented incurring her wrath for breaking rules that I didn’t even know existed.

When I was 14, I attended a vintage clothing show. The show, a major event in Toronto, was held in a cavernous building and attracted huge crowds. My friends and I bought secondhand winter coats in good condition and left feeling pleased that we had gotten them at bargain prices.

When I got home, I quickly showed my mother my new purchase and modelled the coat for her. She flew into a rage and ordered me to take it off. “A dead man could have worn that coat!” she cried. I didn’t understand. What was she so angry about?

As it turned out, my mother grew up in a Chinese culture that was superstitious, and wearing secondhand clothing was considered taboo by many people. The original wearer may have died violently or at a young age, and the next person who wears the item might suffer the same fate. My adolescent self didn’t know that. I thought buying the coat was the right thing. My mother thought she was doing the right thing, too.

These culture clashes escalated into huge fights during my teen years. I was angry. It didn’t seem fair that my mother’s expectations for me were based on the values of a country I didn’t grow up in.

Then while I was in university, a game changer: The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan was published. The novel, which became a major bestseller, follows the lives of four Chinese mothers and their four American-born daughters. The chapters alternate between the point of view of each generation, first a mother’s story, then a daughter’s. I had never read a book like this before. For the first time, the two cultures were laid bare in front of me, and I saw the same struggles and conflicts that my mother and I experienced reflected in print. It made me see her in a different light, and I took a step back from judging her and the way she was trying to parent me. One afternoon, a family friend was driving us downtown. My mother was up front and I sat behind her. As they talked, I was thinking about the stories from The Joy Luck Club, how each generation of women were trying their best to reach out to each other but, because of circumstances, their best sometimes fell short. During the ride, my mother had kept her arm bent behind her head, her fingertips resting on the back of her headrest. After years of fighting, I decided to put my sword down. I raised my hand to hers and gently lifted each finger with my own. Soon my mother and I were holding hands surreptitiously across the seat of the car as she talked with her friend. We stayed that way for the rest of the trip. I remember thinking, “I know we’ll have the rest of our lives together, but I want to enjoy this moment now.” If it weren’t for Amy Tan’s gift of a novel, I would not have had that moment of peace. Later that summer, my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer. She died two months later. The last family photo of Lily Quan's mother, right, at the graduation of the author's brother.