The First Taste
A mixtape that gave me a sense of normalcy and it's small moment in my life is forever engraved in my brain.
I grew up in a home where English was not the first language. Where I had arguments with my dad that a vowel can have two different sounds, short and long. Where Khmer (Cambodian) movies were often played on television and if not, a Chinese movie. Where Khmer music was what we heard in the car often. Where we got playfully teased by our elders when we behaved ‘more American’ or spoke Khmer mixed with English. I naturally always added an -ing to ngouthuk when saying the word ‘showering’ in Khmer, which was followed by giggles or a quick raillery. Where we only ate dishes with names I thought was impossible to translate in English at that time. I grew up in a home where, frankly, what felt like anything ‘American’ was foreign all while being raised on good ol’ USA soil.
As you might expect, I felt we were different from what I thought was a ‘normal’ American family, which I naively assumed was what I saw on TV. I wanted to have a little taste of that. Badly. What was it like to have slumber parties, eat spaghetti together while sharing about our day, have friends visit our home, have two-sided, emotional discussions with parents, walk in the house with shoes on? Even I cringe now for wanting to know the latter but it was my honest, wild curiosity as a young kid.
Then one day, it happened. I vividly remember finally having that small, delicious taste. It was a bright, warm day. I was probably 7 or 8 years old and my brother was 3 years younger. He and I jumped in the back seat of my Dad’s black, 1980s Chevy Caprise. My parents just finished shopping and running errands at the usual bustling Asian neighborhoods we would often visit from Garden Grove to middle of Long Beach. They loaded everything in the car and my Dad removed the Khmer album cassette tape out of the car’s player and asked my Mom for something they had just purchased. He inserted the new tape, turned on the car, and my parents both quietly listened. I was confused. Do they know what they are playing!? When I realized this was no mistake, my eyes widened. I CAN UNDERSTAND ALL THE WORDS COMING OUT OF THE CAR’S SPEAKERS!
Oh, yeah, I'll tell you somethin'
I think you'll understand
When I say that somethin'
I want to hold your hand
I want to hold your hand
I want to hold your hand
Who is singing this delightful, beautiful sweet sound? Does it matter? It’s in ENGLISH. I felt all the joy in the world at that moment. Was it because I felt like a ‘normal’ American family? Or possibly it’s because my parents are finally relating to me— their American born daughter. Maybe both. Next track plays.
Yummy, yummy, yummy
I got love in my tummy and I feel like a-lovin' you
Love, you're such a sweet thing, good enough to eat thing
And it's just a-what I'm gonna do
My brother and I could not contain ourselves. We started shouting, giggling, rubbing our bellies with our hands as we loudly sing, “YUMMY YUMMY YUMMY I got love in my tummy.” We didn’t know what the songs were about. We were too thrilled it was actually in English. Through the sun glares, I think I saw my parents attempting to sing with us. I thought, this was the best day ever.
We reached home. I didn’t want it to end. My parents graciously suggested playing it at the house. My Dad popped the mixtape of 60s band music out of the car and played it in the living room with the volume on high. We never played anything this loud! I frantically hollered for my cousins who lived in a house in front of ours. The four of us danced on the couch, held each other hands, rolled all over the brick red carpeted floor, bounced off my mom’s jewelry office desk, and took turns holding onto the window bars with our body reaching out as if we were Gene Kelly on the lamp post from ‘Singing In The Rain’. Rewind and repeat, rewind and repeat, rewind and repeat, flip cassette, and do it over. We did this until we were out of breath. I laid out on the floor beside my cousins and brother with a huge smile on my face.
Who knew a British band would make me finally feel like a normal American family, even if for a moment. And that’s British, with a short sound ‘i’, Dad.
