My daughters are US citizens and have US passports, but they also have Chinese blood. They have grown up in China. When they look in a mirror, they see their father’s Chinese features smiling back at them. If I were to take them back to the US permanently, could they ever fully understand the beauty of Chinese language and appreciate the depth of Chinese culture? Would they be able to maintain the balance between the two sides of their mixed heritage and feel equally at ease in in both cultures? My concern for maintaining this balance is one reason my children have never had an Ayi or babysitter. We communicate in English at home and adhere to the American practices of children eating, washing, dressing and cleaning up independently. I never need to be concerned about lack of exposure to any other Western culture or customs in Beijing; from cathedrals to Christmas trees, we are spoiled for choice. After spending their one and only Spring Festival in the US, my girls were quick to remind me that the box of dragon decorations and local snacks that I sent them from Beijing couldn’t begin to replace the experience of visiting temple fairs or preparing our New Year’s dinner together as fireworks light the sky. Every big Chinese city is full of western food, artistic performances, holiday traditions, and pop culture. But even in the many smaller cities we visit, western music, fast food and enthusiastic English learners abound. The reverse is simply not true. A click of a switch turns on an air purifier to extract bad things from the air of my Beijing home, but there is no equivalent machine to infuse the atmosphere in my US home with positive aspects of Chinese culture and language. Even children raised in the US by two Chinese parents can rarely achieve full literacy in Chinese. How could I, as a single American mother, ever have a chance? After spending all these years in Beijing, I think that losing the ability to communicate in Chinese would be abandoning a valuable part of my daughters’ identity. Having two cultures to claim as your own is a type of double blessing. I take it as my parental responsibility to preserve this viewpoint and to provide experiences that support it.

Who we are isn’t really determined by the color of our hair or our eyes, and certainly not by the color of our passports. Who we are is determined by what we feel, what we do and what we believe.

My daughters feel that Beijing is their home. They speak, read and write the world’s two most widely used languages with ease. They enjoy the holidays, learn the history and share the daily experiences of two different cultures. They believe that these differences are a source of enrichment rather than conflict and feel proud about being able to explain different habits and customs. Upon returning to Beijing after their extended stay in the US a few years ago, my daughters and I decided to stretch our flight-cramped legs with a stroll through Tuanjiehu Park. Synchronized fans flashed in the fading sun to the strains of traditional music, while ancient Chinese characters written in water evaporated from the pavement at our feet. My eldest daughter Lily sighed with pleasure. She took in all the familiar sights and sounds, then summed up much more succinctly than I ever could, “You know, I can get always get that real American feeling in Beijing, but I can never get that real Beijing feeling in America.” She quietly slipped her arm around my waist then added, “Mom, thank you so much for bringing us home.”

Kim Lee is a writer and teacher specializing in family education. She lives in Beijing with her three daughters.

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