Returning to my Roots

I take a lot of pride in my roots. A lot of us regardless of what ethnic background has roots planted somewhere on American soil. Mine just happens to be at a local park on the edge of San Francisco's Chinatown.



Woh Hei Yuen

It all began when my dad wanted me to get afterschool tutoring. Before the park, it was a former Chinese cemetary. Odd, I know.

For a good year at the tutoring facility, I watched that park develope into what it would shape into...

...our base.

A lot of kids would make their longtime friends at school but for me and a bunch of my close friends, it would be at this very park.

In the late 90's, Chinatown parks have been the home bases for a lot of notoriety. Willie Wong Playground (formerly known as the notorious 'Chinese Playground') was and probably still a homebase for the petty gangs of Chinatown and even plays an important role of "roots" in Bill Lee's book that was named after the park. Chinese Center is another park, not as famous as CP but a home turf for a few small gangs during the afterhours.

Woh Hei Yuen was what I call, the anti-gang park. This park was where I met most of my close friends because of random games of tag, dodgeball, four square and even the whole Pokemon card craze. It was at this park that our inner circle of friends expanded but honestly, we wern't a gang. We were just a group of 11 to 13 year olds that happen to know each other and establish friendships that seem like brotherhoods and sisterhoods now. It was more of a "clique" thing.

By the time I had hit 15, everyone had left the park. We all grew out of it and simply became to busy with growing up. Those carefree summers and afterschool hours became a memory. For a good duration of the years that followed the park was empty, hollow...lifeless.

No more kids running around trying to tag one another. No more kids dodging the full speeded ball. No more preteen love that we had all endured. Nothing but benches, structures and sand.

Today my friend and I walked by there and talked about the good old days. The park was empty still and we wish there was someway we could relive that experience again. (without getting kicked out of it for being too old) I told my friend..."I guess it's no different than that old cemetary it used to be"

Many hours later, I was on my way back to my car and I wanted to walk by the park for a possible one last time. It was dark and the park was lit up by the lamps. I hear laughing, yelling, enjoyment, innocence. It felt like my upbringing as a developing Chinese American was flashing before my eyes. I see a small group of kids playing tag and enjoying what my friends and I had enjoyed in the past.

It's a new Chinese American generation that has planted their seeds into the sands of our dying roots.