To be the Children of Immigrants is to Pretend to be Adults
Darren Jiang
2010, Summer after the 3rd grade:
The wifi stopped working, and they had to send a cable guy over to fix it. My parents were at work, so it was just my two sisters and me at home. We heard knocking at the door and ran to the window. Parked on the street in front of our house was the Optimum van. Angela, because she was the oldest, went down to open the door.
“Hi, miss. I’m here to take a look at your internet,” the man said.
“Okay,” Angela responded.
“Are your parents home?” the man asked.
“No,” my sister responded.
“I can’t come in unless there’s someone 18 or older,” the man said.
“I am,” Angela responded. She had just finished the 6th grade.
2012, the 4th grade:
I was sitting in my 4th-grade class, working on science. Two ladies knocked on the door, and Mrs. Williams went over to greet them. Mrs. Williams called me over and introduced the ladies to me. I don’t remember their names, but one of them rhymed with penny cracker, so I called her Ms. Pennycracker. The other one will be called Ms. Pennycracker-Two. I followed Ms. Pennycracker and Ms. Pennycracker-Two to an office near the front of the school. In the office with the door shut behind me, I faced the two ladies.
“Do your parents ever fight?” they asked me.
“No,” I lied. As I left the room with the two ladies, I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. I went back to my classroom. They had moved on to English by now.
Two days later, we received a letter in the mail saying people would be coming to our house.
My mom stayed home from work the day of the visit and spent the entire day cleaning. I waited on the sofa by the window and stared outside, my heart skipping a beat with each passing car. Then, I saw a car pull into our driveway. “MS. PENNYCRACKER IS HEREEE!” I screamed. We all frantically scrambled around the house, tidying away any last signs of imperfection. Linda and I ran into the room that the three of us shared, sitting down at our toy dining set and trying to act like we were having fun. The doorbell rang, and my mom and sister opened the door. There was some mumbling, then I heard the door close.
“My dad’s still on the way home from work. He should be here soon,” I heard Angela say to the ladies. Angela gave them a tour of our house. “This is the living room… this is the kitchen,” until they finally got to our room.
The ladies waved at me and Linda. “Hi.”
We waved back, smiling. Then, my dad came in through the front door. My parents and Angela talked a bit more before they finally departed. We all looked out the window as we saw the car drive off, breathing a collective sigh of relief.
2014, the 6th grade:
It was parent-teacher conference night at the elementary school. Angela usually took care of these things, but she was busy that night. I stood with my dad in line at the gymnasium of John Marshall Elementary with the other parents. Finally, we were up, and we sat down at the table.
“Hi,” I said to Mrs. Malloy, who I also had for 3rd Grade.
She told me about how Linda was doing in her class, and I told my dad what she had said.
“It was nice seeing you again Darren,” she said when we finished. My dad and I got in line for the next teacher.
2020, freshman year of college:
Our healthcare was due for renewal soon, and I was calling the company to change our address (we had recently moved) so that they could send us our renewal forms. I waited as the line rang on the other side. It connected, and I gave the lady our account information, so she could look it up.
“And your name is?” she asked.
“Darren Jiang,” I responded.
“I don’t see you on here,” she said.
“Oh, I’m the son,” I clarified.
“I can’t change the address for you, I can only do it for the head of household on the policy,” she replied.
“Oh, yeah, my parents don’t speak English,” I explained.
“Sorry, I still can’t help you,” she said impatiently.
I hung up the phone, thinking whether I should call back and deepen my voice to pretend to be my dad. What if I get the same lady again and she recognizes my voice? I thought to myself. I went next door to my sister’s room. She was a junior in high school at the time. She called, introducing herself as Nancy, our mom. We got our address changed.
2022, junior year of college:
After waiting hours, the judge finally called my dad’s name. I unmuted myself on my laptop and announced ourselves as present. The judge explained the charges, I’d been through this many times before (my dad drives for work, so I have to deal with a lot of traffic tickets). I had already spoken to the prosecutor and we’d come to an agreement to plead guilty and just pay the charges. It wasn’t worth the hassle to attend further Zoom court and wait hours to be called. After the judge finished explaining the charges, I introduced myself as my dad’s son, saying that I was there to translate for him. I explained that we were pleading guilty to the charges. My dad, sitting next to me, started to explain what had happened in his broken English. The judge said, “So are you pleading not guilty?”
I respond, “No, we’re pleading guilty.”
The judge snapped, “He can communicate perfectly fine, thank you,” before announcing the name of the next ticket on her list.
Hi! I’m Darren. I graduated from Rutgers in 2024, where I majored in computer science and minored in math and philosophy. My hometown is Edison, NJ. I am currently navigating my quarter-life crisis but outside of that I enjoy cooking, hiking, and gardening.
Darren wrote this piece for Creative Nonfiction with Professor Paul Blaney.