Happy Father’s Day

My father passed away in 1998, so I celebrate Father's Day in remembrance of the lessons he taught me.

My Baba and Mami were traditional Chinese parents. She worked, cooked, and cleaned, while he was responsible for the family’s livelihood and did not participate in housework. They didn’t say “I love you,” celebrate wedding anniversaries, or show physical affection.

Views of the Ceilings

The Glass One

When it came to his two daughters, my Baba was a bit less traditional. He taught us that we could reach our ambitions through hard work. I was never introduced to the concept of a glass ceiling.

Baba ran a stall, a make-shift store front, selling porcelain in the middle of San Francisco's Chinatown. Since he didn’t know how to drive, my sister and I were responsible for transporting boxes of porcelain from the warehouse to the stall.

He never held us back from moving these heavy boxes because we were girls, yet he never specifically asked us to move them knowing we were girls. His work ethic taught us that these boxes determined our family’s livelihood. My sister and I understood it was either a man in his mid-50s moving this stuff by himself, or we could contribute. It was our choice.

The people in Chinatown might have considered his modest business a success. There were whispers that it was a shame his daughters would not be able to carry on the business. Without saying it, Baba had bigger hopes for us because his business was hard work. It was on the spectrum of making ends meet rather than a path to unicorn status.

 Yet Baba taught us the essentials of running the business during our teenage years. He took us to trade shows in China, introduced how to use L/Cs to finance imports, involved us in negotiations with customers, and taught us bookkeeping (even with two sets of books), filing taxes, and balancing checkbooks. These practical business experiences beat internships.

The Bamboo One

When I graduated from university, I received offers from all the Big 6 accounting firms (yes, back then there were 6). I really liked Ernst & Young, but my classmates pointed out, “There aren’t many Asians in that firm.” That comment threw my evaluation off track.

 I shared this dilemma with my Baba.

 He asked me, “Was that part of your evaluation criteria?”

“It never crossed my mind,” I replied.

“Well, then you should not impose that as a negative factor in your decision process.”

 He taught me that just because I was not aware of the bamboo ceiling did not mean it did not exist. However,

I should not see it as a barrier.

 Sadly, my corporate experience brought to life the definitions of  glass and bamboo ceilings. Hard work alone does not help me rise to leadership. But I keep my father’s guidance in mind and always learned to shift the lens from barrier to opportunity.

Guilt-Free Relationships

 My parents rarely took vacations, but they made a point to visit me at the end of my first-year assignment in Hong Kong.

 My one-year assignment in Hong Kong contrasted drastically from my experience with the same firm in San Francisco. One gave me the arena to learn as much as I wanted, while the other restricted my thinking to groupthink.

“I am so ready to go home!” I declared.

“What will you do when you come back? I thought you wanted to leave public accounting after you made manager?” Baba asked.

“Yes, that was the plan. But I don’t like it here. I don’t feel I belong.”

“Is your experience limited to your job? Why do you not feel you belong in your birth country? Do you want to leave with a bad experience or do you find a way to change your experience?” He challenged.

His words allowed me to reflect that the grass is not always greener on the other side. With that reflection, I decided to stay in Hong Kong and embarked on a fulfilling career in Asia.

My father was diagnosed with lung cancer (he was a smoker) while I was living in Hong Kong. My first instinct was to move back home to be with him.

 “Why are you leaving Hong Kong, especially after you decided to stay?” he asked.

“To be with you!” I proclaimed, feeling the guilt of being far away.

“Your presence will not change my diagnosis. If you give up your career for me, I don’t want to live with that guilt.”

 His words of wisdom were a powerful way to remove guilt from our relationships.

After 18 months of battling cancer, my Baba waited for me to return by his side before he took his last breath, more than 24 hours past his surgery. I still remember him bragging to the nurse in his big smile and broken English, “My daughter. Hong Kong.”

Community

Baba was no-nonsense, direct, and straightforward—a marked Cheung family characteristic. The Chinatown community would not classify that as rude or mean because they experienced his empathy through his actions.

Let me share an example. A Vietnamese family of kids from the suburbs would come into the city to sell garlic every weekend. Imagine carrying ten sacks of garlic on your shoulders. The inventory load was heavy and lightened only as they successfully sold to customers.

 My empathetic Baba offered for them to drop their inventory at his stall and replenish when needed so their load would not be so heavy.

 One day we found out they were stealing coins from our makeshift cash register at the stall. I was so angry that they were being ungrateful.

“It’s not about gratefulness. We should think about how dire their living conditions might be, which caused them to steal a few dollars of coins,” Baba advised.

Baba always taught me to think about those less fortunate and be generous when we can, even if we did not have a lot.

He instilled in me the value of hard work and reshaping barriers into opportunities. Do not think the worst of people, but be empathetic and share experiences to help others. These are the values that anchor my writing.

Happy Father’s Day, Baba.