My Chinese parents were poor and uneducated. Neither got more than an eighth-grade education in Hong Kong. They didn’t know English and were blue-collar workers. My mom was a waitress for many years (later cleaning medical supplies at a hospital), and my dad was a cook at a Chinese restaurant, barely making minimum wage. We didn’t have health insurance growing up and were scolded whenever we got hurt. It was so bad that in elementary school, one of my brothers suffered a severe head injury by diving into a shallow lake and bled profusely, yet he demanded we keep it a secret.

We grew up in the 1980s in South Seattle, an area of primarily African Americans at the time. Our house was a modest two-bedroom rambler. My two brothers and I both squeezed ourselves into one bedroom while my parents were in the other. There was no microwave, dishwasher, washing machine, or dryer for many years.

Allowances, back-to-school clothes shopping, and vacations were nonexistent. My parents were on a budget and could only afford to........

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