Elementary school field trips were a source of anxiety. Of course I loved them; I just hated having to tell my parents about them.
Without a doubt my mom would be the first parent to volunteer to chaperone. One time — horror of horrors — both of my parents chaperoned. Grown ups would tell me how lucky I was that my parents wanted to be so involved with my life, that I should be grateful. In theory, I get this sentiment now that I’m officially a grown up. But the petulant 10-year old in me, desperately fighting for American identity in a stalwartly Chinese household, still cringes at the thought.