"Two Kinds" by Amy Tan Audiobook Recording

two kinds by Amy Tan my mother believed you could be anything you wanted to be in America you could open a restaurant you could work for the government and get good retirement you could buy a house with almost no money down you could become rich you could become instantly famous of course you can be prodigy - my mother told me when I was nine you can be best anything what does auntie Linda know her daughter she is only best tricky America was where all my mother's hopes lay she had come here in 1949 after losing everything in China her mother and father her family home her first husband and two daughters twin baby girls but she never looked back with regret there were so many ways for things to get better we didn't immediately pick the right kind of prodigy at first my mother thought I could be a Chinese Shirley Temple we'd watched Shirley's old movies on TV as though they were training films my mother would poke my arm and say he can you watch and I would see Shirley tapping her feet or singing a sailor song or person her lips into a very round oh well thing oh my goodness he can't said my mother is Shirley's eyes flooded with tears you already know how don't need talent for crying soon after my mother got this idea about Shirley Temple she took me to a beauty training school in the Mission District and put me in the hands of a student who could barely hold the scissors without shaking instead of getting big fat curls I emerged with an uneven mass of crinkly black fuzz my mother dragged me off to the bathroom and tried to wet down my hair you look like negro Chinese she lamented as if I'd done this on purpose the instructor of the beauty training school had to lop off these soggy clumps to make my hair even again Peter Pan is very popular these days the instructor assured my mother I now had hair the length of a boy's with straight bangs that hung at a slant two inches above my eyebrows I liked the haircut and it made me actually look forward to my future Fame in fact in the beginning I was just as excited as my mother maybe even more so I pictured this prodigy part of me as many different images trying each one on for size I was a dainty ballerina girl standing by the curtains waiting to hear the right music that would send me floating on my tiptoes I was like the Christ child lifted out of the straw manger crying with holy and dignity I was Cinderella stepping from her pumpkin carriage with sparkling cartoon music filling the air in all of my imaginings I was filled with a sense that I would soon become perfect my mother and father would adore me I would be beyond reproach I would never feel the need to sulk for anything but sometimes the prodigy in me became impatient if you don't hurry up and get me out of here I'm disappearing for good it warned and then you'll always be nothing every night after dinner my mother and I would sit at the Formica kitchen table she would present new tests taking her examples from stories of amazing children she had read in Ripley's Believe It or Not or Good Housekeeping Reader's Digest and a dozen other magazines she kept in a pile in our bathroom my mother got these magazines from people whose houses she cleaned and since she cleaned many houses each week we had a great assortment she would look through them all searching for stories about remarkable children the first night she brought out a story about a three year old boy who knew the capitals of all the states and even most of the European countries a teacher was quoted as saying the little boy could also pronounce the names of the foreign cities correctly what's the capital of Finland my mother asked me looking at the magazine story all I knew was the capital of California because Sacramento was the name of the story we lived on in Chinatown Nairobi I guessed saying the most foreign word I could think of she checked to see if that was possibly one way to pronounce Helsinki before showing me the answer the tests got harder multiplying numbers in my head finding the Queen of Hearts in a deck of cards trying to stand on my head without using my hands predicting the daily temperatures in Los Angeles New York and London one night I had to look at a page from the Bible for three minutes and then report everything I could remember now Jehoshaphat had riches and honour and abundance and that's all I remember ma I said and after seeing my mother's disappointed face once again something inside of me began to die I hated the tests the raised hopes and failed expectations before going to bed that night I looked in the mirror above the bathroom sink and when I saw only my face staring back and that it would always be this ordinary face I began to cry such a sad ugly curl I made high-pitched noises like a crazed animal trying to scratch out the face in the mirror and then I saw what seemed to be the prodigy side of me because I'd never seen that face before I looked at my reflection blinking so I could see more clearly the girls staring back at me was angry powerful this girl and I were the same I had new thoughts willful thoughts or rather thoughts filled with lots of once I won't let her change me I promised myself I won't be when I'm not so now on nights when my mother presented her tests I performed listless ly my head propped on one arm I pretended to be bored and I was I got so bored I started counting the bellows of the foghorns out on the bay while my mother drilled me in other areas the sound was comforting and reminded me of the cow jumping over the moon and the next day I played a game with myself seeing if my mother would give up on me before eight bellows after a while I usually counted only one maybe two bellows at most at last she was beginning to give up hope two or three months had gone by without any mention of my being a prodigy again and then one day my mother was watching The Ed Sullivan Show on TV the TV was old and the sound kept shorting out every time my mother got halfway up from the sofa to adjust the set the sound would go back on and Ed would be talking as soon as she sat down ed would go silent again she got up the TV broke into loud piano music she sat down silence up and down back and forth quiet and loud it was like a stiff and bracelet dance between her and the TV set finally she stood by the set with her hand on the sound dial she seemed entranced by the music a little frenzied piano piece with this mesmerizing quality sort of quick passages and then teasing lilting ones before it returned to the quick playful parts Nikken my mother said calling me over with hurried hand gestures look here I could see why my mother was fascinated by the music it was being pounded out by a little Chinese girl about nine years old with a Peter Pan haircut the girl had the sauciness of a Shirley Temple she was proudly modest like a proper Chinese child and she also did this fancy sweep of a curtsy so that the fluffy skirt of her white dress cascaded slowly to the floor like the petals of a large carnation in spite of these warning signs I wasn't worried our family had no piano and we couldn't afford to buy one let alone reams of sheet music and piano lessons so I could be generous in my comments when my mother badmouth the little girl on TV play note write but doesn't sound good no singing sound complain my mother what are you picking on her for I said carelessly she's pretty good maybe she's not the best but she's trying hard I knew you almost immediately I would be sorry I said that just like you she said not the best because you not trying she gave a little huff as she let go of the sound dial and sat down on the sofa the little Chinese girl sat down also to play an encore of Anitra's dance by Greek I remember the song because later on I had to learn how to play it three days after watching The Ed Sullivan Show my mother told me what my schedule would be for piano lessons and piano practice she had talked to mr. Jung who lived on the first floor of our apartment building mr. Jang was a retired piano teacher and my mother had traded house cleaning services for weekly lessons and a piano for me to practice on every day two hours a day from 4:00 until 6:00 when my mother told me this I felt as though I had been sent to hell I whined and then kicked my foot a little when I couldn't stand it anymore why don't you like me the way I am I'm not a genius I can't play the piano and even if I could I wouldn't go on TV if you paid me a million dollars I cried my mother slapped me who asked you be genius she shouted only ask you be your best for you sake you think I want you be genius ha what for who asked you so ungrateful I heard her mutter in Chinese if she had as much talent as she has temper she would be famous now mr. Jung whom I secretly nicknamed old Jung was very strange always tapping his fingers to the silent music of an invisible Orchestra he looked ancient in my eyes he had lost most of the hair on top of his head and he wore thick glasses and had eyes that always looked tired and sleepy but he must have been younger than I thought since he lived with his mother and was not yet married I met old lady Jang once and that was enough she had this peculiar smell like a baby that had done something it's pants and her fingers felt like a dead person's like an old peach I once found in the back of the refrigerator the skin just slid off the meat when I picked it up I soon found out wild Jang had retired from teaching piano he was deaf like Beethoven he shouted to me were both listening only in our head and he would start to conduct his frantic silent sonatas our lessons went like this he would open the book and point to different things explaining their purpose key treble bass no sharps or flats so this is C major listen now and play after me and then he would play the C scale a few times a simple chord and then as if inspired by an old unreachable itch he gradually added more notes and running trills and a pounding bass until the music was really something quite grand I would play after him the simple scale the simple chord and then I just played some nonsense that sounded like a cat running up and down on top of garbage cans old Jung's smiled and applauded and then said very good but now you must learn to keep time so that's how I discovered that old Jung's eyes were too slow to keep up with the wrong notes I was playing he went through the motions in half time to help me keep rhythm he stood behind me pushing down on my right shoulder for every beat he balanced pennies on top of my wrists so I would keep them still as I slowly played scales and arpeggios he had me curve my hand around an apple and keep that shape when playing chords he marched stiffly to show me how to make each finger dance up and down staccato like an obedient little soldier he taught me all these things and that was how I also learned I could be lazy and get away with mistakes lots of mistakes if I hit the wrong notes because I hadn't practiced enough I never corrected myself I just kept playing in rhythm an old junk kept conducting his own private reverie so maybe I never really gave myself a fair chance I did pick up the basics pretty quickly and I might have become a good pianist at that young age but I was so determined not to try not to be anybody different that I learned to play only the most ear-splitting preludes the most discordant hymns over the next year I practiced like this dutifully in my own way and then one day I heard my mother and her friend Lindo Jeong both talking in a loud bragging tone of voice so others could hear it was after church and I was leaning against the brick wall wearing a dress with stiff white petticoats auntie Linda's daughter Waverly who was about my age was standing farther down the wall about five feet away we had grown up together and shared all the closeness of two sisters squabbling over crayons and dolls in other words for the most part we hated each other I thought she was snotty Waverly Jung had gained a certain amount of famous Chinatown's littlest Chinese chess champion she bring home to many trophy lamented auntie Lindo that Sunday all day she played chess all day I have no time do nothing but dust off her winnings she threw a scolding look at Waverly who pretended not to see her you lucky you don't have this problem said auntie Lindo with a side to my mother and my mother squared her shoulders and bragged our problem worser than yours if we ask jing-mei wash dish she hear nothing but music it's like you can't stop this natural talent and right then I was determined to put a stop to her foolish pride a few weeks later old Jung and my mother conspired to have me playing at talent show which would be held in the church hall by then my parents had saved up enough to buy me a secondhand piano a black Wurlitzer spinet with a scarred bench it was the showpiece of our living room for the talent show I was to play a piece called pleading child from Schumann's scenes from childhood it was a simple moody piece that sounded more difficult than it was I was supposed to memorize the whole thing playing the repeat parts twice to make the piece sound longer but I dawdled over it playing a few bars and then cheating looking up to see what notes followed I never really listened to what I was playing I daydreamed about being somewhere else about being someone else the part I'd like to practice best was the fancy curtsy right foot out touch the Rose on the carpet with a pointed foot sweep to the side left leg bends look up and smile my parents invited all the couples from The Joy Luck Club to witness my tip you auntie Lindo and uncle tin were their Waverly and her two older brothers had also come the first two rows were filled with children both younger and older than I was the littlest ones got to go first they recited simple Nursery Rhymes squawked out tunes on miniature violins twirled hula hoops Princeton pink ballet tutus and when they bowed her curtsied the audience would sigh in unison aw and then clap enthusiastically when my turn came I was very confident I remember my childish excitement It was as if I knew without a doubt that The Prodigy side of me really did exist I had no fear whatsoever no nervousness I remember thinking to myself this is it this is it I looked out over the audience at my mother's blackface my father's yawn auntie Lindo stiff lipped smile Waverley sulky expression I had on a white dress layered with sheets of lace and a pink bow in my Peter Pan haircut as I sat down I envisioned people jumping to their feet and Ed Sullivan rushing up to introduce me to everyone on TV and I started to play it was so beautiful I was so caught up in how lovely I looked that at fur I didn't worry how I would sound so it was a surprise to me when I hit the first wrong note and I realized something didn't sound quite right and then I hit another and another followed that a chill started at the top of my head and began to trickle down yet I couldn't stop playing as though my hands were bewitched I kept thinking my fingers would adjust themselves back like a train switching to the right track I played this strange jumble through two repeats the sour notes staying with me all the way to the end when I stood up I discovered my legs were shaking maybe I had just been nervous and the audience like old Jung had seen me go through the right motions and had not heard anything wrong at all I swept my right foot out went down on my knee looked up and smiled the room was quiet except for old Chung who was beaming and shouting Bravo Bravo well done but then I saw my mother's face her stricken face the audience clapped weakly and as I walked back to my chair with my whole face quivering as I tried not to cry I heard a little boy whisper loudly to his mother that was awful and the mother whispered back well she certainly tried and now I realized how many people were in the audience the whole world it seemed I was aware of eyes burning into my back I felt the shame of my mother and father as they sat stiffly throughout the rest of the show we could have escaped during intermission pride in some strange sense of honour must have anchored my parents to their chairs and so we watched it all the 18-year old boy with a fake mustache who did a magic show and juggled flaming hoops while riding a unicycle the breasted girl with white makeup who sank from a dam abut her fly and got honorable mention and the 11 year old boy who won first prize playing a tricky violin song that like a busy bee after the show the shoes the jung's and the st. Clair's from The Joy Luck Club came up to my mother and father lots of talented kids auntie Linda said vaguely smiling broadly that was something else said my father and I wondered if he was referring to me in a humorous way or whether he even remembered what I had done Waverly looked at me and shrugged her shoulders you aren't a genius like me she said matter-of-factly and if I hadn't felt so bad I would have pulled her braids and punched her stomach but my mother's expression was what devastated me a quiet blank look that said she had lost everything I felt the same way and it seemed as if everybody were now coming up like Gawker's at the scene of an accident to see what parts were actually missing when we got on the bus to go home my father was humming the busy bee tune and my mother was silent I kept thinking she wanted to wait until we got home before shouting at me but when my father unlocked the door to our apartment my mother walked in and then went to the back into the bedroom no accusations no blame and in a way I felt disappointed I had been waiting for her to start shouting so I could shout back and cry and blame her for all my misery I assumed my talent show Fiasco meant I never had to play the piano again but two days later after school my mother came out of the kitchen and saw me watching TV 4 o'clock she reminded me as if it were any other day I was stunned as though she were asking me to go through the talent show torture again I wedged myself more tightly in front of the TV turn off TV she called from the kitchen five minutes later I didn't budge and then I decided I didn't have to do what my mother said anymore I wasn't her slave this wasn't China I had listened to her before and look what happened she was the stupid one she came out from the kitchen and stood in the arched entryway the living-room 4 o'clock she said once again louder I'm not gonna play anymore I said nonchalantly why should I I'm not a genius she walked over and stood in front of the TV I saw her chest was heaving up and down in an angry way no I said and I now felt stronger as if my true self had finally emerged so this was what had been inside me all along no I won't I screamed she yanked me by the arm pulled me off the floor snapped off the TV she was frightening least wrong half pulling half carrying me toward the piano as I kicked the throw rugs under my feet she lifted me up and onto the hard bench I was sobbing by now looking at her bitterly her chest was heaving even more and her mouth was open smiling crazily as if she were pleased I was crying you want me to be someone that I'm not I saw I'll never be the kind of daughter you want me to be only two kinds of daughters she shouted in Chinese those who are obedient and those who follow their own mind only one kind of daughter can live in this house obedient daughter then I wish I wasn't your daughter I wish you weren't my mother I shouted as I said these things I got scared it felt like worms and toads and slimy things crawling out of my chest but it also felt good as if this awful side of me had surfaced at last too late changed this said my mother shrilly and I could sense her anger rising to its breaking point I wanted to see it spill over and that's when I remembered the babies she had lost in China the ones we never talked about then I wish I'd never been born I shouted I wish I were dead like them It was as if I had said the magic words Alakazam and her face went blank her mouth closed her arms went slack and she backed out of the room stunned as if she were blowing away like a small Brown leaf thin brittle lifeless it was not the only disappointment my mother felt in me in the years that followed I failed her so many times each time asserting my own will my right to fall short of expectations I didn't get straight A's I didn't become class president I didn't get into Stanford I dropped out of college for unlike my mother I did not believe I could be anything I wanted to be I could only be me and for all those years we never talked about the disaster through Seidel or my terrible accusations afterward at the piano bench all that remained unchecked like a betrayal that was now unspeakable so I never found a way to ask her why she had hoped for something so large that failure was inevitable and even worse I never asked her what frightened me the most why had she given up hope for after our struggle at the piano she never mentioned my playing again the lessons stopped the lid to the piano was closed shutting out the dust my misery and her dreams so she surprised me a few years ago she offered to give me the piano for my 30th birthday I had not played in all those years I saw the offer as a sign of forgiveness a tremendous burden removed are you sure I asked shyly I mean won't you and Dad miss it no this is your piano she said firmly always your piano you only one can play well I probably can't play anymore I said it's been years you'll pick up fast said my mother as if she knew this was certain you have natural talent you could bend genius if you want to no I couldn't you just not trying said my mother and she was neither angry nor sad she said it as if to announce a fact that could never be disproved take it she said but I didn't at first it was enough that she had offered it to me and after that every time I saw it in my parents living room standing in front of the bay windows it made me feel proud as if it were a shiny trophy I had won back last week I sent a tuner over to my parents apartment and had the piano reconditioned for purely sentimental reasons my mother had died a few months before and I had been getting things in order for my father a little bit at a time I put the jewelry in special silk pouches the sweater she had knitted in yellow pink bright orange all the colors I hated I put those in moth proof boxes I found some old Chinese silk dresses the kind with little slits up the sides I rubbed the old silk against my skin then wrap them in tissue and decided to take them home with me after I had the piano tuned I opened the lid and touched the keys it sounded even richer than I remembered really it was a very good piano inside the bench were the same exercise notes with handwritten scales the same second-hand music books with their covers held together with yellow tape I opened up the Schumann book to the dark little piece I had played at the recital it was on the left-hand side of the page pleading child it looked more difficult than I remembered I played a few bars surprised at how easily the notes came back to me and for the first time or so it seemed I noticed the piece on the right-hand side it was called perfectly contented I tried to play this one as well it had a lighter melody but the same flowing rhythm and turned out to be quite easy pleading child was shorter but slower perfectly contented was longer but faster and after I played them both a few times I realized they were two halves of the same song you

Channel: Th.E. Boyd

Views: 62,277

Rating: 4.6742082 out of 5

Keywords: amy, tan, two, kinds, 2 kind, 2 kinds, short, story, holt, rinehart, winston, elements, of, literature, fourth, course, 4th, english, class, kind, high, school, ela, audiobook, recording, audio, public, education, sophomore, junior, senior, freshman, freshmen, listening, listen, to, literary, analysis

Id: G-SqvlrnJCk

Length: 29min 4sec (1744 seconds)

Published: Sat Sep 21 2019