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“Oh.” She nods. “Yes, you right, more respectful.” She pats me on the cheek. “I raise you so well.”
It goes on like that for a while, Jake bragging, describing in great detail each and every one of the hotels he owns, and Ma replying in the most bimbotic way that’s humanly possible. Anyone reading this would think I’m desperate for Jake’s approval, but I know that this is Ma being polite. This is how she’s raised me, to encourage others to talk about themselves, and then find the good things in what they say and show appreciation. I can’t tell whether it’s a Chinese thing or an Indonesian thing, but whatever it is, it worked on Jake.
“I tell you, ah,” Ma hisses, “it is good thing he already dead, otherwise I kill him.”
There is a mix of noises from my aunts—Big Aunt is tch-tching and shaking her head, muttering, “This what happen when parents don’t raise the son well,”
“I hear about this kind of Internet scam before. Is called goldfish.” “Catfish,” I say. “No, I’m sure is call goldfish. Because pretend got gold, but actually just a fish.”
I have to start using this one more
