Charlie was one of my few friends that my mother invited to her dinner table. She spoke little English, and she believed her home style Chinese cooking was not appealing to the Western palate. Charlie was a perceptive and intuitive young man who appreciated the significance of this, and authentically enjoyed the food, decades before home cooking became recognized as the standard for the best food. My mom liked Charlie, a coup for him. He was able to bridge the cultural divide with my mom, a sign of his diplomatic skills. It was an indicator also of Charlie’s unassuming goodness.
And I got along famously with Charlie’s mom. Charlie would complain jokingly that his mom on more than one occasion said to him, “Why can’t you be more like Fran?” Although I don’t know which aspect of my character she wished him to emulate. We enjoyed visits together at Moosehead Lake when his mom was vigorous. That says it all about the depth of our friendship, both our moms’ mutual approval. It all began in 1965, when we both lived on the second floor of Painter Hall. (I will add to this later after I return from a month long sojourn in Asia.) I will say for now that I am heartbroken to lose this dear friend.
Francis Chin
Charlie was one of my few friends that my mother invited to her dinner table. She spoke little English, and she believed her home style Chinese cooking was not appealing to the Western palate. Charlie was a perceptive and intuitive young man who appreciated the significance of this, and authentically enjoyed the food, decades before home cooking became recognized as the standard for the best food. My mom liked Charlie, a coup for him. He was able to bridge the cultural divide with my mom, a sign of his diplomatic skills. It was an indicator also of Charlie’s unassuming goodness.
And I got along famously with Charlie’s mom. Charlie would complain jokingly that his mom on more than one occasion said to him, “Why can’t you be more like Fran?” Although I don’t know which aspect of my character she wished him to emulate. We enjoyed visits together at Moosehead Lake when his mom was vigorous. That says it all about the depth of our friendship, both our moms’ mutual approval. It all began in 1965, when we both lived on the second floor of Painter Hall. (I will add to this later after I return from a month long sojourn in Asia.) I will say for now that I am heartbroken to lose this dear friend.