At six years old, my curious eyes observed Yeye (Grandpa) studying for the United States citizenship test. I saw him carefully write notes in the margin of an old tattered magazine with crinkly pages because he would never throw anything away. He used a scratched-up, fifty-cent, inky black pen that smeared on the pages and stained his calloused hands. I waddled over to sit on his lap and noticed his notes were in broken English, and that I actually understood his writing. These notes focused on American history and government; even at six years old, I understood that something important was troubling him. I immediately offered help to Yeye and he took me up on it. 

Within a few days, he appeared with a makeshift voice recorder. The voice recorder was palm-sized and bound in silver duct tape, colorful stray wires protruding from the sides. The battery exposed on the back end shone in silver and red. I marveled at his creation. He used this humble device to capture my American pronunciation in English. He attentively listened to my voice over and over again, trying to mimic my perfect accent. Exhausted from quizzing him, I would often become drowsy. Yeye would notice my weariness and stop the duct-taped recorder. He carried me with his sturdy arms and rocked me to sleep while playing recordings of his voice singing on that same recorder. His comforting and gentle lullaby, sung out of love and sacrifice, soothed me. After cradling me for forty-five minutes, I could feel his perspiration and tiredness. I had feelings then that I had no words for as a six-year-old. I did not understand what the word gratitude meant, but this was what I was feeling in my heart. I felt so much gratitude because he sacrificed his comfort for me. This is the first time I can remember feeling loved. Eventually, in my life, my grandparents passed their citizenship test on their first attempt and became close caretakers as my parents built their careers in America. 

My close relationship with Yeye continued throughout my childhood, motivating me to make him proud for being a good person. He helped me understand the value of sacrifice. His actions affected me well beyond my childhood as I came to understand the meaning of the word “gratitude” over the years. I learned from Yeye to help others, even when they do not request help. There are times when I still recall the pure happiness I felt while Yeye carried me back and forth past the leather-brown couches positioned against the long-ended wall of our living room. These were the last moments when I did not have a single worry in the world. It is surprising how this experience is etched so deeply in my memory. I do not remember anything but this, from our time in this first house.

Now, a decade later, I spend my winter break with elders at the Chinese Senior Social Center. Most days, I cover the cream-colored porous walls with the senior’s Chinese calligraphy and water colors. Of the group of seventy grandparents, six or seven will ask me to help them with citizenship questions or English grammar. Their wrinkles frame sweet smiles when I enter the room. As I sit down, I notice the empty pickled radish jars used for drinking water or soy milk throughout the lesson. One regular attendee pulls yellow tinged English workbooks out of a plastic bag from a local Chinese grocery store. We then begin our work. I get great satisfaction from sharing my knowledge of American history and government in Chinese. I am no longer a six-year-old child, and I am more than capable of guiding my respected elders through the citizenship process. Their joy is my joy when we work together.

The treasured recollection of Yeye’s unwavering devotion stays with me now as I approach university life. I realize I will be without the daily support of my family for the first time. It is not clear to me now how I will mature without the comforts of home. That old beat-up recorder sits in the kitchen cupboard behind my mom’s Chinese vases and teacups. I think about burying the recorder in my luggage so Yeye’s voice will travel along with me. When I think about leaving home for college, I carry him with me in my mind and heart for remembrance of safety and love.