Vignette Christine Peng

Sitting in a dingy, cramped restaurant waiting for the carts of brunch dishes to pass by, I look like your average American teen - Calvin Klein t-shirt, khakis, a look of disgruntlement and impatience on my face. I should be making up this week's sleep debt. Finally, the tea arrives at our table, and the smell refreshes me ever so slightly, the aroma of jasmine leaves lifting my mood. That is, until

"Don't pour her tea," declares my father.

The teapot slows to a halt on its journey to my cup. My mother rolls her eyes at the voice but places it back on the table anyways. It sits there patiently, silently shouting to tip it over and pour it out. So I lazily heed its command, and it resumes its trip until

"Are you just going to pour it for yourself? What about your mother?"

Translation: "Pour it for me, too."

The teapot is getting grumpy by now, so I relieve it a bit by pouring my mother, and then my father, tea. Finally, it is my turn to drink, and I bring the teapot towards me for the third time, until

"You know, it's okay if it's just us, but if there were other adults here, you can't do that. It's rude not to pour tea for others first. We're old and you're young, you...