Jennifer Lin
My father calls this book my obsession and I have to admit, he’s right. In fact, I can pinpoint the precise moment it started. It was the first morning of my first trip to China: June 18, 1979. We were staying in the childhood home of my father, a doctor from Philadelphia who left Shanghai in 1949. Everything was going great until an uncle pulled my father aside and whispered, “Do you have any idea what happened to us?” Truth was, he had been clueless. Their lives had been rough, but we had no way of knowing it.
When we returned home to Philadelphia, my father didn’t dwell on the past. He moved on with his life. But I couldn’t let go. Maybe it was my nature as a reporter. I needed to unravel the history of my family.
When we returned home to Philadelphia, my father didn’t dwell on the past. He moved on with his life. But I couldn’t let go. Maybe it was my nature as a reporter. I needed to unravel the history of my family.
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