We are now half-way through my daughter’s adventures in Taiwan, and I am happy to report there have been no allergic reactions! A few teary phone calls during the first two days were to be expected, but we have now reached the apex of the trip and my daughter is all smiles, painting lanterns with her host family, sampling tea at a local tea garden, bargaining with street vendors to purchase fruit, and sampling the world-renowned dumplings at Din Tai Fung. At least that is what the pictures are telling me.

It is astounding how, in the course of seven days, my chatty child’s correspondence has devolved into a series of monosyllabic responses to my stream of questioning. In all my years interviewing people for magazine articles, she is quickly becoming my most challenging interviewee to date. You know your child is having a great time on the other side of the planet when your conversations becomes wholly unsatisfactory.

“How was the first day at school?”

“OK.”

“What did you do today? Were you in class with your host sister? “

“Yes.”

“Do you want to schedule a FaceTime call with us? When is a good time?”

“OK.”

“How are you getting to school?”

“I walk.”

“Walk with your host sister?  That must be fun!

What a cool way to start the day. How long does it take?”

“I’m tired. Good night, Mommy.”

If I could shake that child from 6,600 miles away for details, I would.

It was my daughter’s host mom who came to the rescue and helped fill in the blanks about her first few days in Taipei. During this tumultuous time, she emailed me expressing concern that my child wasn’t eating very much. The first photo was of my daughter’s first breakfast of ham, egg and bun. Wow, I thought. How thoughtful and Westernized. Another photo from that first day showed a cute picture of my daughter with her new friend and host sister alongside a barbecued chicken–a whole chicken, right down to the head and feet. I chuckled to myself remembering that I had forgotten to tell my daughter about some of the culinary customs in Asia. Oh well! She’s got to find out some things on her own. This cultural exchange, I thought, is off to a fantastic start.

The next day, the host mom emailed me a photo of the carefully composed lunch of bok choi, sausage and white rice that she lovingly made and packed for my child. But she was disheartened to see that only the vegetables were eaten. We both surmised that my daughter was still jet-lagged and a little nervous. It was only day #2, so I encouraged the mom to give her a few days for the tummy to settle down and that my child would surely start to eat her usual balanced diet, cleaning her plate as she does at home.

By Wednesday, I received another email continuing to express concern that my child was not eating well. Our ever-patient host mom reported that “Maybe the cooking style of meat is not for her. She ate a flour cake and some fruit for breakfast, and for lunch she didn’t finish the rice and bean cake…I am worried she doesn’t get used to the lunch I prepared. But she liked the desserts and finished a cupcake quickly this afternoon.”

My face burned with embarrassment. This woman was going beyond the call of duty to make delicious, healthy fresh lunches every day for my American kid with food allergies. And my kid was turning up her delicate nose to new food. It was nothing short of a cultural affront. If she could manage to get a chocolate cupcake down, her tummy must be just fine. I would not stand for it. It was enough that we had put this mom through the ringer sending her oodles of information about Epi-Pens, a detailed action plan in Chinese, and an enormous box of “just-in-case” foods. But I drew the line at allowing my child half-way around the world to be a picky kid on top of all of that.

I fumed silently as I thought of all those stupid styrofoam boxes of instant noodles I had packed and shipped off as back-up. I considered taking the exorbitant shipping cost out of my daughter’s allowance for the next 10 years. And then I did the only thing I had the power to do from the other side of the world. I texted my child insisting on a live FaceTime call. “We need to talk ASAP.”

At 5AM the next morning, I found myself patiently watching and listening to my daughter go on and on about their excursions to the Confucius Temple, the Kuo Yuan Ye Museum of Cake and Pastry (where she was able to try the cakes despite being told she’s have to bring along a granola bar and abstain from the samples), and the Yang Ming Mountain National Park. My anger and frustration subsided just enough to observe how happy and confident she looked and sounded. So I let go of the lecture I was about to unload on her. She is only 10 after all, and she’s only been in this foreign country for 5 days.

When she was done with her detailed accounts (finally got those details I had been craving…), I thanked her for sharing. Then as gently as I could, I asked her how her tummy was feeling. “It’s OK.” Ugh. Dead-end. “OK, well, um, your host mom is a little worried that you aren’t eating enough. I understand that she’s been making you good lunches, but you aren’t eating much. She also said that you were eating dessert. So I’m guessing your tummy must be feeling better?”

Radio silence. OK, calling out your kid is probably not the best way to start a conversation. But I forged on with my diatribe: “I know some things look very different to what you eat at home, but you need to try everything, at least one bite. It is considered so rude if you don’t. Your host mom is busting her hump to make safe, good food, but you have to meet her halfway and at least try it, OK?”

“OK,” she replied sullenly.

This was not going well. I had popped her bubble of effusiveness and confidence. Caught between wanting to hug my kid and tell her that I was so proud of her for taking this adventure, and wanting to yell at her to get over her rudeness, I wondered how much of a  mom I really needed to be in this moment. And then I heard myself say it: “If I have to tell your host mom not to let you have dessert if you don’t eat your dinner, I will. I have that power, even from 6,000 miles away. Don’t push me, kiddo.” Not my proudest moment.

We said our goodbyes. I spent the rest of the day reliving that FaceTime call wondering how I could have handled the situation better. She’s just a kid! She’s still getting over her nerves. But no! She’s an ambassador of this country, and she needs to try everything. Her host mom is working so hard for her! She is not going to be that ugly American kid, not if I can help it.

Several hours later, I received two messages–one from my daughter and a picture from her host mom of the most gorgeous udon noodles I’ve ever seen. I was impressed by the mom’s culinary chops and will one day get the nerve to ask her for the recipe. But it was my daughter’s message that warmed my heart: “Today’s dinner was SUPER good.”

Whew. Cross-cultural relations still intact, even with precious little details.

 

*Photos courtesy of Linda Chen, host mom extraordinaire!