Hi, my name is Henry Davis, but no need to worry about how to sound out my first
name. The r can be a tongue twister for some people and that’s because I grew up in New
York City, but not the “real” New York City. Growing up, my name wasn’t Henry, well I
wasn’t called that. Instead, my Popo, Yee ma, and others would all call me Henny, Henee,
or just Hen. When I told friends about this usually, I’d get a short round of laughter and
comments like “They can’t just call you by your name?”, innocent attempts of mocking an
Asian accent as they chanted my name. And since I couldn’t speak Cantonese or
Mandarin, I never really understood why my family had such difficulties just saying my
name. It really cemented this whole “Broken English” stereotype in my head. Everyone
around me were part of Hispanic households so even if they didn’t know their mother
tongue, English & Spanish have enough familiar sounding words to fill in the gaps here &
there. But English & Cantonese? That’s a surefire way to land you in a really awkward
conversation cause the Canto side has at least an inkling of what the English speaker is
saying but might not be able to reply as coherent as they’d like in a foreign tongue. Yet
despite all that I said, this “Broken English” is as whole as any other language to me. So
this is why I am choosing Mother Tongue by Amy Tan, another child, another story about
“Broken English”, and another person who truly explains the ins & outs for such a
stereotype.
Amy Tan’s “Mother Tongue”, published in 1990, in the Threepenny Review, is a 4–5-
page essay detailing how her perception of what it is to live and deal with the positive &
negative aspects of a “Broken English” household. She details how growing up with her
mother had given her different perspective of the integrity of the English language in
reflection of a person’s intelligence. She points out the irony of her mother’s English
vocabulary expression in contrast to how she thinks or understands, such as reading
pieces of media with words or ideas people wouldn’t be able to understand when coming
out of her mouth. She talks about how being the daughter of someone who speaks “Broken
English” shrewd her thought process of her own identity as an adolescent, it made her feel
like her English wasn’t as whole as others or as normal. As the essay reaches its
conclusion, she changes her shift of focus from her life and her mother to the life of other
Asian Americans and how they too possibly experienced these aspects of broken English.
Ultimately, her essay talks about the struggles & pleasures of what it’s like to live with a
stereotype and how it’s not something broken but rather a different facet of the English
language. So, for this essay I will talk about broken English’s false assumptions about
stereotypes/expectations, and lastly the importance of this essay’s message to even
today’s generation of Asian Americans & immigrant children. For I believe Amy Tan’s point
she wanted to get across is that stereotypes/expectations don’t define the integrity of your
character.
As the author states, “Broken English” isn’t really broken, as an Asian American
myself it’s just another facet of English regardless of how it sounds. Since this essay is in
regard to fellow students of CCNY, it’s safe to say we all live in NYC. We live in a city
habituated by immigrants from & to each corner and borough. English is spoken in so many
ways of tongue whether it be a mix of multiple languages, broken down syllable by syllable,
and just different accents. Broken English is only a limitation based on perceptions, “I
wanted to capture what language ability tests can never reveal: her intent, her passion, her
imagery, the rhythms of her speech and the nature of her thoughts” (Tan 4-5). The author
even directly compliments my point when she states “You should know that my mother’s
expressive command of English belies how much she actually understands. She reads the
Forbes report, listens to Wall Street Week, converses daily with her stockbroker, reads all
of Shirley Maclaine’s books with ease~~all kinds of things I can’t begin to understand.” To
the author, she knew this as well, that the way someone (her mother) speaks doesn’t
reflect everything they know. Language, regardless of which, is only one layer-albeit flimsy
at times- of what one person can express as their identity. For me, even though sometimes
I don’t know what my yeema (aunt) or popo (grandma) is always saying literally, I know
what they mean or what to say. It’s not a talent or even a secret, it’s just that I grew up with
it, so I know it as just ‘an English I speak at home. I’m sure many here could understand
with this experience with their family growing up, it’s the same English regardless of how it
all sounds.
Despite this essay being published in 1990, many of what the author talks
about still holds true when it comes to the act of preemptively pushing a narrative
upon Asian American students, specifically about pursuing a more
STEM/mathematical career, and even Pre-Med/Med. It was like that for me too,
specifically back in Elementary school. Before I found my love for reading & writing, I
used to be exceptionally well at math (according to my school) and was pushed to
be this kid (I was even Valedictorian in that Elementary school) that would
eventually pursue something mathematically aligned by the teachers & my family.
Sure, I showed passion for reading books, but since I lived in an Asian household,
the prospects of being mathematically superb was something that sounded better
to push me into. Scenarios like mine are always at play regardless of time, place,
and race because even the author experienced it, “And this makes me think that
there is other Asian-American students whose English spoken in the home might
also be described as “broken” or “limited”. And perhaps they also have teachers
who are steering them away from writing and into math and science, which is what
happened to me” (Tan 4). Although our scenarios differ, the core of the stories is
alike in the sense that, perhaps, many Asian Americans also go through this kind of
enforced narrative from a young age. And to me, I find this to be as poisonous as the
“Broken English” stereotype. It reminds me of Asian families encouraging their
children to seek out professions not for passion but rather money & financial
stability (med). Not to say that these kinds of professions are all being forced upon
every Asian American but that it’s something many faces with since a young age
about having to uphold expectations or bringing a good reputation to the family.
Lastly, even though Mother Tongue was published 35 years ago, the author’s
message is very clear even to this day. We shouldn’t follow a narrative set by others.
In my interpretation of the few final paragraphs the author talks about how she
broke away from the narrative that was being pushed on her and she decided she’s
going to spend her life doing something she loves, whether she’d excel or not at it. In
her own words, “Fortunately, I happen to be rebellious in nature and enjoy the
challenge of disproving assumptions made about me…I started writing nonfictions
as a freelancer the week after I was told by my former boss that writing was my
worst skill and I should hone my talents toward account management” (Tan 4).
Which ultimately led up to “Apart from what any critic had to say about my writing, I
knew I had succeeded where it counted when my mother finished reading my book
and gave me her verdict: ‘So easy to read’.” She understood that what she was
raised to do (by the system) wasn’t what she needed or wanted to do. In my two
cents I fully agree with this message, there’s no value in following an enforced
narrative, especially if it’s not who you are. The author was clearly not someone
who excelled in English in the beginning but ironically this essay is about her work of
writing she published many years after the start of forging her own narrative.
In conclusion, after laying out the listed points, I still stand in belief that Amy Tan’s
message was to show people, especially immigrants and specifically Asian Americans,
that a narrative will be enforced into your life, whether it be expectations of who you should
become, or your intellectual worth being determined by how well you speak English or can
do math. Which isn’t a genuine reflection of who you really are but instead a fraction or
inaccurate demonstration of your actual integrity.

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