This First Person column is the experience of Catherine Law, who lives in Calgary. For more information about CBC’s First Person stories, please see the FAQ.
When I was six years old, my parents took me to the mid-autumn festival in Calgary’s Chinatown.
There were lanterns hung in the streets, lion dances and red firecrackers. I can still see the little pig-shaped pastry my parents bought me as well as the red and orange goldfish lantern with its green handle. But mostly I remember the feeling of finally being surrounded by people who looked like me and spoke a language I could understand — Cantonese.
I have a complicated relationship with Chinatown. It was important to my family in those early years after we moved from Hong Kong for better economic and educational opportunities in 1981. I was a toddler and didn’t learn English until I went to kindergarten. Chinatown was the place where we met with friends and found good food, where we could finally let our guard down and feel understood.
But in my teen years, I grew ashamed of my heritage and pulled away, including from Chinatown. I began to understand that the reason my friends and classmates made fun of the smell of my food and the shape of my eyes was because they were looking down on my Chinese connections.
My friends would go with me to Chinese restaurants, but make me order the food because they assumed the staff could not speak English.
Another time a cashier refused to sell my mother a package of shrimp at their advertised in-store discount saying we had already reached our daily household limit. But this was our first visit. I had to translate between the staff and my mother. I should have been proud of my mother for fighting passionately but all I felt was shame as shoppers stared at the commotion.
This continued for many years and I avoided Chinatown except for the occasional bakery or dim sum visit.
CBC visited the Edmonton Chinatown Multicultural Centre to learn the basics of lion dancing from the city’s longest-running lion dance team.
Then eight years ago, everything changed. I had a child. As I held my baby boy, I recognized the shame I was carrying. I didn’t want him to carry that as well. I wanted him to know his family’s story and carry it with pride, and I knew to do that, I had to embrace it publicly, too.
I loved my first trip back to Chinatown with him. He sat in his stroller pointing excitedly to the baked hot dog buns and egg tarts in Diamond Bakery. The owner even gave him a freebie to enjoy while he packed up the rest of my order.
But on that trip, I also started to worry about Chinatown. A lot changed while I was away. There were “For Lease” signs where I remembered bakeries, butcher shops, BBQ houses and grocery stores. I realized people don’t have to come to Chinatown for groceries anymore now that we have Asian supermarkets in many neighbourhoods, and the fact many shop owners are getting older and retiring has hastened a sense of change.
I do see new businesses — dessert shops, bars, Vape shops and vintage clothing — but I worry Chinatown is missing the type of core businesses that make a community thrive. Elderly Chinese Canadian residents still live in the apartments but they need to take transit up Centre Street for groceries now that Hang Fung Foods has closed.
On a Sunday morning earlier this summer, while my son was taking his weekly class in Chinese language and culture, I made my way to Chinatown’s last remaining Cha Chaan Teng (Hong Kong-style diner) called Calgary Court. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the clanking of dishes and woks, the whoosh of gas stoves firing up and the morning news blaring in Cantonese from wall-mounted televisions. The aunties sitting next to me chattered excitedly about which free Stampede breakfasts they planned to hit.
The waitress brought a cup of hot milk tea. I took a sip and enjoyed the balance of astringency and heavy milk flavour working together to create a silkiness in the mouth. Not for the first time, I wonder what the secret to making it so silky could be.
I looked outside the window.
I know Chinatown can’t be a museum; it has to change. But I hope it never loses that rich feeling of connection and of being a haven for the Chinese community — a place to remember who we are and what we’ve overcome. I hope it’s always a place where my son will feel pride and belonging as a real and present thing, not just a story of what used to be.
Even if it’s more convenient to shop in the suburbs, I know I need Chinatown. I’m going to make time to support it and support my community.
Telling your story
This First Person piece came from a writing workshop run in partnership with the Calgary Public Library at the Crowfoot branch. Read more about CBC Calgary’s workshops at cbc.ca/tellingyourstory.
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