Chapter 7 Growing Up Different
Growing Up Different
To Mrs. Jenkins three houses down, he was the polite little boy who carried her grocery bags whenever he saw her struggling up the walkway.
To Mr. Raymond at the corner barbershop, he was "Officer David Junior," even though Travis insisted that title belonged to him because he was Terrence's oldest son.
To the neighborhood children, Tan was simply Tan—the kid with the fast hands, quick feet, and surprisingly good jump shot who never hesitated to defend someone smaller than himself.
To Gloria David, he was another grandson who was much too skinny no matter how much food she put on his plate.
To Harold, he was his fishing partner, garage assistant, and the only grandchild patient enough to listen to long stories about cars that had been discontinued decades before Tan was born.
And to Terrence and Eva?
He was their son.
No explanation necessary.
The adoption certificate hanging in a fireproof box in Terrence's closet hadn't created that reality.
It had simply confirmed it.
Three years had passed since the courthouse celebration, and Tan had changed in ways Terrence sometimes struggled to comprehend.
The frightened child who once hid crackers beneath his pillow was growing into a confident boy with an easy smile, sharp mind, and enough curiosity to exhaust every adult around him.
He no longer woke up screaming every night.
The nightmares still came occasionally, especially around the anniversary of the immigration raid, but they no longer controlled him.
He didn't hoard food anymore.
He had finally allowed Eva to wash Panda—though only after negotiating the entire process and personally supervising the stuffed animal's journey through the washing machine.
The jade pendant remained around his neck.
Always.
He wore it to school.
To church.
To basketball practice.
Into the swimming pool.
It had become as familiar to the David family as Tan himself.
Terrence never asked him to remove it.
Neither did Eva.
They understood that some pieces of childhood weren't meant to be surrendered simply because life had changed.
Still, growing up as Tan Lee David came with questions none of them could completely answer.
Some came from Tan himself.
Others came from strangers.
And occasionally, those strangers weren't kind about asking.
Saturday mornings belonged to Harold's Barbershop.
Harold didn't own it.
He simply behaved as though he did.
The shop actually belonged to his childhood friend, Raymond Carter, who had been cutting hair in South Central for more than thirty years.
Terrence had received his first haircut there.
So had Travis.
Tan's first visit had happened shortly after his adoption.
Raymond had stared at Tan's straight black hair for nearly thirty seconds before declaring, "I'm a barber, not a magician."
The entire shop had erupted in laughter.
Eventually Raymond learned.
Now Tan sat comfortably in his chair every few weeks while Raymond carefully shaped the sides of his hair, leaving the top slightly longer the way Tan liked it.
That Saturday morning, the shop was full.
Basketball highlights played on the television mounted near the ceiling.
Men argued over whether the Lakers needed another shooter.
Someone in the corner complained about gas prices.
Harold played dominoes at a small table near the window.
Travis sat in another barber chair complaining that his lineup wasn't straight enough.
"It's straight," Raymond said.
"It looks crooked."
"Your head crooked."
The entire shop exploded.
Travis frowned.
"Grandpa!"
Harold slapped a domino onto the table.
"Boy, don't drag me into it."
Tan laughed so hard he nearly moved beneath the clippers.
Raymond pushed his head gently forward.
"Stay still, China."
The nickname came affectionately.
Tan knew that.
Everyone in the shop knew it.
Still, Terrence, who stood near the counter drinking coffee, looked up.
Raymond noticed.
"What?"
Terrence raised an eyebrow.
"Nothing."
"You giving me that cop look."
"I'm drinking coffee."
"You've been drinking coffee for twenty years. I know your coffee face."
Harold laughed.
"He's right."
Terrence shook his head.
Tan looked between them.
"It's okay, Dad."
Terrence studied him.
"You sure?"
Tan smiled.
"Uncle Ray been calling me that forever."
Raymond pointed the clippers toward Terrence.
"See?"
Then he looked at Tan.
"But if you ever don't like it, you tell me."
Tan nodded.
"I know."
Raymond returned to his haircut.
Terrence smiled.
That was one thing he appreciated about the neighborhood.
Most people had embraced Tan immediately.
Not because they pretended he wasn't Asian.
They saw exactly who he was.
They simply made room for all of him.
At church, elderly women hugged him until he couldn't breathe.
At school functions, neighbors cheered for him with the same enthusiasm they showed Travis and Ella.
At block parties, nobody questioned why an Asian boy called a Black woman Mama and a Black police officer Dad.
The Davids were the Davids.
Period.
Outside their neighborhood, however, the world sometimes insisted on making things complicated.
It happened the following Monday.
Tan was sitting in the school cafeteria beside his best friend, DeAndre Morris, trading potato chips for chocolate pudding when a boy named Bradley Foster stopped beside their table.
Bradley had transferred to the school two months earlier.
His family lived several neighborhoods away, and his father owned a chain of auto-parts stores.
Tan didn't dislike him.
They simply hadn't spoken much.
Bradley stared at Tan.
"Is that really your brother?"
Tan followed his gaze.
Travis stood across the cafeteria joking with several fifth graders.
"Yeah."
Bradley frowned.
"But he's Black."
DeAndre stopped chewing.
Tan looked back at Bradley.
"I know."
"And you're Chinese."
"Also know that."
DeAndre snorted.
Bradley seemed annoyed.
"How can he be your brother?"
Tan shrugged.
"We got the same parents."
"No you don't."
Tan's smile disappeared.
"Yes, we do."
Bradley shook his head.
"You don't even look alike."
Across the table, DeAndre lowered his sandwich.
"Me and my sister don't look alike either."
"That's different."
"How?"
"Because they're both Black."
Tan felt something tighten in his stomach.
He'd heard questions before.
Usually innocent ones.
Are those your parents?
Were you adopted?
Do you speak Chinese?
Where were you born?
Most didn't bother him.
This felt different.
Bradley wasn't asking because he wanted to understand.
He wanted to prove something.
Tan pushed his tray slightly away.
"He's my brother."
Bradley laughed.
"Your real brother?"
That word.
Real.
Tan hated it immediately.
"Yes."
"But your real family is Chinese."
DeAndre stood.
"Man, leave him alone."
Tan remained seated.
His fingers curled beneath the table.
Bradley continued.
"My mom said adopted kids have two families."
Tan looked up.
"I do."
"So they're not your real parents."
Before DeAndre could react, Tan stood.
"My dad is my real dad."
Bradley smirked.
"Not if he's Black."
The cafeteria went strangely quiet around them.
Tan shoved Bradley.
Hard.
Bradley stumbled backward into another table.
A milk carton hit the floor.
Students screamed.
Bradley lunged forward.
Tan swung.
His fist caught Bradley across the cheek.
Within seconds, two teachers rushed between them.
"Stop!"
"Tan!"
"Both of you!"
DeAndre grabbed Tan around the waist.
"Chill!"
Tan's chest heaved.
Bradley pointed toward him.
"He's crazy!"
"You said my family ain't real!"
Tan shouted.
The assistant principal hurried across the cafeteria.
"Enough!"
Tan's eyes burned with tears he refused to let fall.
"My family is real!"
Terrence received the call twenty minutes later.
He was completing paperwork at the station.
"Officer David?"
"This is he."
"This is Principal Watkins from Crenshaw Heights Elementary."
Terrence immediately sat straighter.
"Which one?"
There was a pause.
"I'm sorry?"
"I have three children. Which one did something?"
Despite herself, Principal Watkins laughed.
"Tan."
Terrence sighed.
"What happened?"
"He was involved in a physical altercation."
Terrence closed his eyes.
"Is anybody hurt?"
"Nothing serious."
"I'll be there."
He hung up.
His partner, Officer Marcus Reed, looked over.
"Kid trouble?"
"Tan punched somebody."
Marcus stared.
"Tan?"
"Apparently."
"Quiet little Tan?"
"That one."
Marcus grinned.
"Maybe the kid deserved it."
Terrence stood.
"That's exactly the kind of professional guidance I needed."
"Happy to help."
Twenty-five minutes later, Terrence sat inside the principal's office.
Tan occupied one chair.
Bradley sat in another with his mother.
Both boys wore matching expressions of resentment.
Bradley's cheek had already started turning red.
Tan's knuckles were bruised.
Terrence noticed immediately.
He kept his voice calm.
"What happened?"
Principal Watkins explained.
When she finished, Terrence looked at Tan.
"Is that accurate?"
Tan stared at the floor.
"He said you ain't my real dad."
Terrence's anger toward Bradley surprised him.
He controlled it.
"What else?"
"He said Mama ain't my real mama."
Bradley's mother sighed.
"My son was only asking a question."
Tan's head snapped up.
"He was laughing!"
Mrs. Foster looked defensive.
"Bradley doesn't understand adoption."
Terrence turned toward her.
"Then this might be a good opportunity for him to learn."
She stiffened.
Terrence wasn't interested in arguing.
He looked at his son.
"Tan."
Tan crossed his arms.
"He deserved it."
"That's not what I asked."
Silence.
"Did you hit him?"
"Yes."
"Did he hit you first?"
Tan hesitated.
"No."
"Then you were wrong."
Tan's face crumpled with anger.
"But Dad—"
"You were wrong."
Terrence's tone wasn't harsh.
That somehow made it worse.
Tan looked away.
Terrence continued.
"Nobody gets to define our family for us."
Tan looked at him.
"But you don't get to use your fists every time somebody says something ignorant either."
Bradley's mother raised an eyebrow.
Terrence turned toward Bradley.
"And you don't get to disrespect somebody's family simply because it doesn't look like yours."
Bradley lowered his eyes.