9/2/08
On the day after Labor Day, sun slanting through Annie’s bedroom blinds already looks like autumn, the white glare of summer faded to muted orange. It is the start of a new year — a new school year — and Annie has signed up the twins to start Chinese school next week, so they’ll remember their heritage.
“But they’re Korean,” Ryan says.
Chinese school meets on Saturday mornings in the basement of the Chinese church over on Center Street. Annie didn’t know it was a Chinese church until she started asking around. From the outside it’s the usual modern Christian house of worship — low slung with clear glass and a minimalist cross — one of several churches, including an older white clapboard version, surrounding the green. How do Christians, new in town, know which church to enter, which edifice houses their own particular version of God?
“So find me a Korean school,” Annie says, assuming he won’t. Ryan isn’t their father, so he doesn’t get a say. Of course, nobody thinks Annie’s their mother, either. When she’s with them in the supermarket or pulling up their tutus at ballet, people look at her freckles and soft brown curls and register a double-take at Hannah’s and Esther’s angular cheeks, shiny black eyes.
“Isn’t it enough for them to be Jewish?” Ryan asks. Annie’s been raising the girls Jewish as she and her husband Bryan had planned when he was alive. “Matzo balls, that’s their heritage now,” Ryan says. This from a guy whose religion...
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