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God Has Assholes for Children
- University of Georgia Press
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35 God Has Assholes for Children Eddie Huang We got to Florida late at night, groggy and stinkin’ from the ride. We pulled into the parking lot of this place called Homewood Suites; I liked it ’cause their logo was a duck. We usually stayed at Red Roof Inns, so I was pretty impressed with this place they called an extended-stay hotel. Emery and I walked around touching everything in the room, but my parents were tired so they made us shower and go to sleep. We all woke up super-late the next day. It felt like we slept a year! Dad was already at work. The best part about Homewood Suites was that you could look outside and see the sign for [Dad’s restaurant,] Atlantic Bay Seafood and Grill. It was a monstrous neon sign you could see from the highway and follow all the way from the exit. “Mom! Why does Dad do American food and not what you make at home?” “Because nobody want to pay for REAL Chinese food.” “Why not?” “Because they not Chinese! Stupid question! Your dad is smart, he has white chef so people don’t know Chinese own Atlantic Bay and we can sell seafood for more!” “Is Atlantic Bay like Chesapeake Bay?” “Hmm, kind of!” “Yeah? Do they have hush puppies?” I asked. Before she could answer, Emery chimed in, too. “We can eat all we want since we own it, right? We don’t have to have more aunts for more free kids meals anymore!” “Yeaaahhh! I want fried cod and hush puppies with Tabasco!” “OK, OK, you guys can eat all you want. Let’s go see Dad.” “We don’t need aunts anymore! We OWN the restaurant!” eddie huang 36 Emery and I were dumb excited to see Atlantic Bay. It was huge! Three times bigger than our old house and they had cool uniforms: polo shirts with big blue and white stripes. But my dad wore a suit! We found him in the kitchen and it smelled so bad. It was the first time I’d been in a restaurant kitchen. The food smelled great, but there was this funky old mildewy smell that I’d never smelled before. “Dad, why’s it smell so bad? Isn’t it supposed to smell good in a kitchen?” “This is a restaurant! It smells like a . . . factory or industrial place because we have strong cleaning chemicals.” “It smells like a dirty dishwasher!” “Well, the dishwasher is always going so you’ll smell that, but this is just how restaurants are.” “Mom said it’s like Chesapeake Bay. Do you have hush puppies?” “No, but we have homemade biscuits! You’ll like them.” Dad pulled a hot biscuit off a speed rack and handed it to me steaming hot. It had a good hard crust. It wasn’t a super-flaky biscuit, but I broke it open and it was really moist on the inside. I took a bite and remember how distinct the flavor was. It had a sweetness that most biscuits didn’t have. I wasn’t going to forget about hush puppies any time soon, but it wasn’t bad. I found Emery hanging out by the fish tank at the front of the restaurant. “Hey! We don’t have hush puppies.” “Really?” “Yeah, but we got biscuits!” “Biscuits? Are they good?” “Yeah, not bad. Kinda sweet, but good.” “OK, I guess that’s cool.” “We don’t own a Chesapeake Bay, but I think we have a Red Lobster . . . ’cause they have biscuits, too.” Every day, I got sent to school with Chinese lunch. Some days it was tomato and eggs over fried rice, others it was braised beef and carrots with Chinese broccoli, but every day it smelled like shit. I’d open up the Igloo lunch box and a stale moist air would waft up with weak traces of soy sauce, peanut oil, and scallions. I didn’t care about the smell, since it was all I knew, but no one wanted to sit with the stinky kid. Even if they didn’t sit with me, they’d stand across the room pointing at me with their noses pinched, eyes pulled back, telling chingchong jokes. It was embarrassing so I asked Mom to start packing me some white people food. “What do white people bring to lunch?” “Like sandwiches, chips, and juice boxes. Everyone likes Capri Sun, Mom!” [3.237.65...