Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month: Angela (Lee) Plitch, A07, MG10

By: Angela (Lee) Plitch, A07, MG10

This will be one of the harder stories for me to share.

My family emigrated from Hong Kong to Vancouver, Washington in 1990, when I was five years old. Mom came first, to join the rest of her family and to pave the way, while my Dad stayed behind in Hong Kong for several more months to wrap up job-type loose ends. We are grateful to my Mom’s family for providing a soft landing spot for us to land, letting us stay in their home (with a swimming pool!), letting us borrow their amazing old khaki-colored BMW that growled to a start, all before my parents bought their first home in the U.S.

It’s still unclear to me how my Mom landed a job that would feed four (and then five, when my youngest brother was born) mouths, nearly as soon as she arrived. For now, suffice to say it must have been a challenge. We first attended Sacajawea Elementary, and my grandparents and Aunt Pui would walk from their neighborhood to pick me up after school. It wasn’t long before I transferred to Lake Shore Elementary to be in the “Challenge Program”—a program for accelerated learners.

During this time, my ever resourceful parents knew that there was no way they could help me with my American/English homework. So they struck up conversation with our new neighbors across the street and kitty-corner from our house, and proudly asked for help. Bernice was a lifelong educator in the Vancouver public school system, and Jess was an engineer with the US Highway Administration. Jess passed away peacefully in March 2019, and Bernice followed her husband in September 2020.

From grade 4 until grade 10, I sat at Bernice and Jess’ kitchen counter every evening from about after dinner, until after my homework was complete. If my writing is any good at all—I would attribute that to Bernice’s skill and endless patience with me as I sat and she drilled Active Voice into me. Every time I write, I think of her. They did not have biological children, but I bet they counted hundreds of kids that they taught, or came into contact with—their children. They invested in me, immeasurably. Maybe initially this was motivated by a desire to help, and invest in an immigrant family that clearly needed it. Their love for me grew stronger with every passing year, and I certainly reciprocated that feeling.

Bernice was the one to introduce me to The Hobbit. Jess and I built many a plywood tower to compete for Science Olympiad, scoring many layers of plywood and small triangular joins (triangles are the strongest shape) with an Exact-o knife in their kitchen, atop their linoleum floor. They both instilled in me a love for physical activity, signing me up for my first 5k in 1994. I still have the now-too-soft cotton shirt to prove it. They and I (not the rest of my family) traveled together to Australia when I was in eighth grade. Bernice was allowed to sign away a waiver for my life when we went scuba diving in the Great Barrier Reef. When we hiked up Ayers Rock on that same trip, the blustery weather made me feel as if my petit frame would blow straight up into the air and off the mountain. Jess shielded me with his own body every step of the way.

They came to most of my high school track meets and basketball games. Their quiet nature meant that they did not cheer loudly, but when I looked to the stands, I could see them proudly beaming. For most of my life, I felt like one of their biological offspring.

In high school, she instilled in me a deep and abiding devotion to public service. For years, we would go to the Pythian Home together, a place for the aging and elderly in Vancouver. We would bring construction paper for crafts, and cards to play games. Though at that age, I was a little creeped out to be around such elderly folks, I remember thinking to myself that I should make her proud and do the right thing, even though I had never known/met these elderly folks before. For as long as I can remember, Bernice volunteered at our local hospital, and as a docent for Portland’s largest arts organization.

Bernice helped me immensely with my college applications. We wrote postcards to each other from every place our families traveled. Their love for travel sparked my family’s lifelong love for travel. They loved cruising on Holland America cruise ships. Our family has taken a handful of cruises due to their influence. Alaska, South America, Western Europe. They taught my parents about AAA TripTik, long before GPS enabled us all to travel without printing out turn-by-turn directions onto an 8.5'’ x 11'’. Without fail, birthdays meant a reliable card in my mailbox. Theirs was the only one that made it Every. Single. Year. I think they even bested my parents, husband and lifelong best friends in this regard. When I was still living across the street, she would bring Rice Krispie bars, Tim Tams, and chocolate—all of my favorite treats—to celebrate. When my family went away on vacation, and my youngest brother did not want to travel with us—they took him in, again, like he was their very own.

On summer breaks from college, I would visit them at their home. They would call me their “Brag Child.” No one they knew could compare to me. Honestly, it was a great feeling. I was touched that every I-need-to-return-to-college goodbye resulted in damp eyes from them. They attended my college graduation, flying across the country on their own dime to attend. I felt the depth of this love as they both worked lifelong public sector jobs. When I landed my first job, they were the first and most emphatic about cheering me on. Over the years, they both dutifully inquired about my professional pursuits, and I was always their measuring stick for excellence, and perhaps also tangible return on their investment in their time and love.

When Matt and I got married, Bernice wanted to ceremoniously welcome him into the fold by asking him to paint his name on her garage floor.

Years earlier, when they moved into the neighborhood, she arrived to find that “Angie” and “Jennifer” (my childhood friend who lived there with her grandpa prior to Bernice and Jess’ arrival) were painted in white on that garage floor.

When Maya and Quinn were born, she also asked that they paint their names next to ours. Bernice was in her more advanced years, but she still managed to gift us with a handmade quilted and stuffed horse for Maya in 2017 and a handmade Snoopy (Jess’ favorite) blanket for Quinn in 2019.

Every visit I made to their home, Bernice would gift us with her thrifted children’s books from the Salvation Army. She sure knew how to find a deal. Her resourcefulness always inspired us. Bernice’s last gift to both of my girls was a kid-sized rocking chair with turned arms and legs, and well-worn-but-still beautiful upholstered pillows. This chair was special because her father had bought it for her in South Dakota when she was a toddler—for $1.25 if I recall correctly what she shared. This chair sits my in living room, and my girls love it. I see it everyday, and I am reminded daily of both Bernice & Jess, and their grace and love for me.

Bernice was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in March 2020, nearly a year after Jess died. As we have been local since 2013, we visited periodically, but I increased the frequency of my visits when I learned of this devastating news, as I truly could not imagine what life would be without one of my North Stars and guiding lights.

After her diagnosis, we walked nearly biweekly for the six months that she lived with pancreatic cancer. This spanned the time of Covid-19 and social distancing. Which means it also spanned the time when this country was reckoning with the daily and vast injustices against Black people and Black bodies in America.

On our walks, she would easily outpace me. It was incredible, and an inspiration. At 80+ years old, living with pancreatic cancer raging inside of her, with an indeterminate length of time left to live, she would suggest we do three-mile walks here, there, and everywhere. We walked at the Salmon Creek trail, at the University of Washington-Vancouver campus, as well as all around my childhood neighborhood. She was an unstoppable force. In the later weeks and months, her mental acuity was slowing, but she was still very present.

On one of these walks, I asked her what she thought about the Black Lives Matter movement, which was consuming much of my thoughts at the time, and definitely featuring prominently in mainstream media. Without skipping a beat, she said to me while shaking her head: “All Lives Matter.” I tried gently, though reticently (afraid of what I’d hear/learn), to inquire more, and she went on to share—“If an immigrant family like yours can succeed as you have in the U.S., I don’t see any reason why African Americans can’t do it too. You guys have overcome it all.” I knew over the years that she and Jess voted Republican. They voted for Trump in 2016 and they were very proud of that. I knew it was mostly because they were socially and fiscally conservative, but when I asked how they could overlook his human rights, women’s rights, anything’s rights record...it was simply that, they saw past it.

Bernice’s feelings about the Black Lives Matter movement, and her views on Asian “triumph” as a shining example/yardstick for what other BIPOC should and could be able to achieve troubled me the moment it tumbled out of her mouth. She was unapologetic about it, and I wanted nothing more than to shut down the conversation immediately. Is it possible to change the mind of a strong-willed 80+ year old? I will never find out.

I was and still am heart-broken about her (and potentially, their) views. Why I struggle is because these were the most seminal mentors my whole young, impressionable life. Without even realizing the indoctrination I was receiving, I can unequivocally now say I know why I ignored racism against Asians until three weeks ago. It is because Bernice and Jess were really my first and most influential teachers. I have them to thank for nearly everything, and now—I constantly struggle with knowing that I can probably also credit them with the hatred I felt for “under-performing” Asians my whole life. I am who I am—all of it—mainly due to them (and of course my parents, brothers, and now my husband and kids). The seeds of the model minority myth that I lived was very likely planted first by Bernice and Jess. Disappointed doesn’t quite describe how I feel about them. It’s likely closer to ‘enraged.’

When I drive into my old neighborhood to visit my parents, Bernice and Jess’ house is the first one I see. My heart is still pained every time I see it. Someone else lives there now, and I have to push myself to remember the happy times, before my delusion of their benevolence was shattered. Instead, I’m reminded that White supremacy can be found in every corner of my life. I’m so conflicted in my feelings for them. Not to mention, this is classic White Supremacy—pitting one group against the next...exactly how they want Us.

There’s no real point to this story, except to share that two things can simultaneously be true, I suppose. That people you deeply love, respect and owe a lifetime debt of gratitude, can also be people that you despise, fear and want to (re-)educate. I wasn’t brave enough to have the conversation with her. I’m not sure it would’ve mattered. But I regret that I never tried.

To Bernice, if you’re reading this—See you up at those Pearly Gates. And I look forward to chit chatting with you about the above, just as we always chit-chatted in front of our houses on 70th Circle. In the meantime, I’m sending you all my Love.

More of Angie's writing about race and being a half-generation Asian American (who immigrated to the U.S. at age 5) is available at https://theangielee.medium.com.

Read other contributions of the personal stories of Tufts alumni informed and inspired by their heritage—and shared in recognition of Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month.