The Throwback

The only time I ever felt like I was just another kid was during our monthly trips to Flushing, a neighborhood in Queens, New York City.

By the time I hit middle school, I thought I had American culture down. I was caught up in class, knew the slang (or, rather, the curse words), and even had a pair of Jordans that made me instantly “cool.”¹ But, of course, my parents had to throw me another curve ball: We were moving, again. Some family friends had a connection that would get me into a private Catholic school in Connecticut, which was, in theory, great. We’d be close to our friends, I’d get a “better” education, and my dad would be able to work in the booming industry that is the East Coast Chinese restaurant scene. Wins all around.