At the Eight Immortals—where the Lee kids are knownto sprawl in front of dim sum carts, checking outthe shark fin dumplings & ham ha ngau yuk chow fun—the owner prefers to seat us in the banquet room upstairs.Grandma loves her grandchildren, doesn't want us to marry& move out of state! The boys pat her head, sputteringChinglish & adjusting tones until they hit the mark. On special occasions, when Canadian half-relatives visit,second uncle's lanky second son, Ellison, tapes styrofoamcups to his chest, piles waist-length hair on top of his head,& grooves like a drag queen waitress in heat. If our blindGrandpa were alive, his one blue eye would try to staredown our antics. Last year I married & now I'm chewingthe fat at the grown-up table, talking about my 401K.I miss the steamed bun fights, the 11-kid stadium wavearound our table, & the puppet show—chicken & duck headsstuck on chopsticks, pecking at each other, their pink napkindresses trailing in the soy sauce.
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