Sunday, November 18, 2007
Chinatown in Chicago
In the sixties, we would go to visit my grandfather in Chicago's Chinatown. He lived in this house, which didn't have yellow siding in those days.
He didn't speak English (although he understood it) and I didn't speak Chinese, so he always seemed mysterious, shrouded in cigar smoke. Most of the light in the room came from the black and white TV.
One of my most memorable moments with him was walking down the sidewalk in Chinatown and watching him spit on the sidewalk. I promptly spit on the sidewalk too, which resulted in a severe scolding from my parents.