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My Turn
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From The Asian Reporter, V34, #4 (April 1, 2024), page 6.
A bouncing ball and a bruised ego
There comes a time when one looks back on their life and recalls the moments when they truly accomplished something special. For some, it could be a physical act, like climbing Mount Everest or finishing a marathon. For others, it might be a creative act, such as penning a best-selling novel or inventing a better mousetrap.
When I look back, I am proud of being a good father and husband. But, the more I contemplate my accomplishments, I find myself going back to the one success that towers over the rest.
I finally beat my mother-in-law in a game of ping-pong. Immature, you say? Insignificant, you proclaim? Let me explain.
My mother-in-law was born and raised in Taiwan. Every day during lunch, as well as three nights a week, she would get together with friends to play ping-pong. She is consistently the league champion.
As for me, I’m as competitive as you can possibly imagine. I risk serious bodily injury and humiliation in order to win a point.
When she arrived in San Diego, my first instinct was to play nice. I was the future son-in-law, after all, and the reason her daughter was moving away from Taiwan for good. Fairly early on, she suggested we play ping-pong. It sounded innocent enough, and while I don’t play that much, I figured "heck, I’ll even let her win."
The first match set the tone. Not only did she beat me, she blew me away. And to make things worse, I could tell she was also taunting me in Chinese.
"I’m sure you can beat me," she said. "Should I hit it softer?"
For the next few days, I knew my new mission in life. No need for sleep or food. I became one with the ping-pong paddle.
We played more than 30 matches. I never won, but at least I heard some new taunts.
"Maybe you should try playing left-handed … or maybe I should." "Where are my glasses? I can’t believe I’m winning without my glasses."
The next day, she was gone, back to Taiwan. My official ping-pong record was zero wins, 35 losses. I muddled through each day that passed with no purpose in life. I was a broken shell of a man.
Fortunately for me, after a few months, she called to say she would visit us again.
The clouds lifted. Time for a rematch.
She arrived, and after exchanging pleasantries, we got down to business. The first ten games were a replay of her last trip.
But then came the 11th game. I could do no wrong. I had never played so well, before or since. The final score: 21-18. Game over. My new record: 1 win, 45 losses.
She wanted to continue playing, but there would be no rematch. I would finish my career with a win.
Does it make any difference that she had jet lag from her 12-hour flight, or that I’m twice her size, 20 years younger, or that she still has a 44-game advantage over me?
Nah. A win is a win in my book.
Humor writer Wayne Chan lives in the San Diego area;
cartoonist Wayne Chan is based in the Bay Area.
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Opinions expressed in this newspaper are those of the
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