Love bridges cultural gap

By Kristina Covey of the Minneapolis Community and Technical College

When I first met my boyfriend’s mother, Mee, she looked at me in disgust. It wasn’t because of the way I dressed, talked, or even acted, but because I was not Hmong like her.

I come from a dirt-poor, steaming hot country called Paraguay in South America. My mother, Susan Covey, adopted me. Beyond that, I know next to nothing about my background or heritage. I’m an American girl, but dating Seng Thor has opened up a foreign world to me here in Minnesota – the Hmong world.

I met Seng Thor at a house party when I was only 15 years old. In my eyes he was handsome and had beautiful, slanted brown eyes. I loved his small lips that managed big smiles. I really wanted to talk to him but I was nervous. My cousin forced me to get his number.

We finally started to talk, and by the time we looked up at the clock, the party was over. As the months went by, we hung out and finally one day made it official that we were together. I had never been with an Asian guy before.

Two months later, Seng brought me to his house. I met his brothers and sister. His siblings seemed very nice and, later on that night, I met his stepfather and his mother.

Seng and I dated for a couple more months, and I still had that same bad vibe from his parents, but I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Seng. I finally felt that it was time to get more involved in their Hmong culture. Because I didn’t know much about my own culture I thought that if I learned about his I could learn and be part of his culture.

Whenever Seng’s family would have gatherings, I would go and help out in the kitchen, help clean, eat their food, and more. Above all, though, I decided to respect their culture. Some of the stuff they said or did I found strange.

Around this time, Seng’s stepfather had a heart attack and to help heal him, they killed a pig. I was shocked at first. Once I learned more about Seng’s culture, I found out it is a sign of respect.

Four years later, I got pregnant. Seng’s mother was okay with me at that point, but we still didn’t really click because I think she was still getting used to me. We didn’t have much to say in our conversations. It didn’t help that all of our conversations had to be translated.

I moved in with Seng and his family after becoming pregnant. In Hmong culture, a man and a woman usually marry if they are living together, and that’s what Mee wanted us to do. But Seng and I didn’t want to get married because we felt we were too young, and we had an up-and-down relationship. Mee could see that our minds were made up, so eventually she accepted our decision.

On June 29, 2008, my son, Giovanni, was born. Seng’s mother stopped by the hospital and seemed very happy. She asked Seng: “Do you love your son?”

Seng looked down at Geano, as we call him, and looked back at his mom. “Yes, more than anything,” Seng said.

From that day on, Mee and I became closer than ever.

I still didn’t feel too involved with Hmong culture until my son got very sick with sores down his throat that would not go away. He was unable to eat, drink or sleep. I brought Giovanni to the hospital, but they said they really couldn’t do much about it because he was just too young to use a mouthwash medicine.

Mee, Seng, his little brother, my son and I all drove down to a different county to go see a Hmong shaman for an Ua Neej, which is a ritual that takes the sickness – mental or physical – out of a person’s body and soul.

I was really nervous because I’d never seen a shaman before and didn’t know what he would do to my son. An elderly guy came from upstairs and lit one long incense stick and started chanting softly. I was sitting right next to the shaman; my son was beside me.

I still didn’t believe in what we were doing until my ears starting ringing loudly and my ear plugged up. The room was very quiet, and I had a feeling that the spirit the shaman called to help my son was touching my spirit as well.

The shaman put out the half-burnt incense stick and gave my son something to eat. It had been almost five days since my son could eat. To my surprise, Geano took the food the shaman offered and ate it. From that day on, I started believing in Hmong culture and its spirit side.

After that, I started to learn and understand the Hmong language because I felt that it would be good if I knew more for my son’s sake.

My son is being raised in both the American way and the Hmong way. My son eats American food when he is with my mom and speaks and is spoken to in English. When he is at Mee’s house, he eats, speaks and is spoken to in Hmong.

I wish that I knew more about my heritage so he could learn about my cultural background too, but my son has a large, diverse family that loves him.

I’m very happy that I met Seng so I can be more involved and learn more about someone else’s culture. I’m also happy that Mee accepted me into the family and, most of all, accepted my son.

She loves him. Now I can see that she doesn’t care about race or culture, but cares about who you are.