Timmy Tu
When I was six years old, my family moved from Milwaukee to Eagan. We didn’t know anyone in the community until one summer evening when we met the Li family on the tennis courts near Eagan High School. It seems almost surreal that this happened a decade ago, but the memories are still vivid. That encounter marked the beginning of the friendship between our two families.
The dinner parties at Hu Min Ayi and Li Shu Shu’s house will always be the favorite part of my childhood memory. My sister and I have always thought of the Li house as the hub of the Chinese community, with Li Shu Shu sitting at the head of the table entertaining guests with his jokes and Hu Min Ayi’s delicious food. As I ran in and out to play in the backyard or climb up and down the basement stairs to grab a treat on the main floor, I often felt bewildered by how a gathering with swarms of people could be executed so harmoniously. Always busy in the kitchen, Hu Min Ayi never forgot to ask me if I had tried this or that. My wandering presence in the kitchen often inspired her to put more treats out for the kids to enjoy. When the other Chinese dads were trying to assert their dominance at the table, whether it was using unnecessary hand gestures, raising their voice, or sharing self-promoting anecdotes, Li Shu Shu would often speak with a big smile on his face. His words were passionate, but his voice was respectful and placid—a voice few people could replicate.
Throughout these years, I realize no family could have been a better example for the model family other than the Li family, with a warm mother, a doting father, and happy, loving, carefree children. Hu Min Ayi is the heart and soul of the family. For me and my sister, she has also been like a second mom —the calmer, cooler, and classier mom.
Li Shu Shu taught me that life's simplest pleasures could bring so much happiness, even if it was a baked potato. A couple of summers ago, Hu Min Ayi put on a farewell party for Minne’s family before they went back to Beijing. I was in the kitchen nibbling on some treats when Li Shu Shu burst into the house from the backyard, holding a tray of potatoes he had buried in the small campfire. With an ear-to-ear grin, he urged me to pick up one, “Go try it, zhen hao chi!” Before I decided what to do, he shoved one into my hands. Never had I seen anyone so excited about something as rudimentary as a baked potato. The taste of the campfire-baked potato I no longer remember, but Li Shu Shu’s excited voice and expectant looks on his face will forever be etched into my heart and mind.
Throughout my younger years, subconsciously I wanted to impress Li Shushu, whether it was with my school projects, cooking, or just by attempting to be mature. Last summer when I talked to him about the computer refurbishing project that I had just started with a bunch of high school students, including Lori, he said, “zhen hao ya!” I grew up hearing these words from him, no matter how small my project was, how unsavory my food actually tasted, and how miniscule my progress looked. These will forever be the words by which I will remember him.
Many times, I have thought about where I should go for college, what I want to major in, and what I want to do with my life. My mom always tells me it doesn’t matter what I do in the future as long as I enjoy what I do and can have a positive influence on society. However, she keeps on proposing the same idea over and over again. As a daughter of an OBGYN, she also wants me to become a doctor, while emphasizing how many people seem to go into this field for ulterior purposes. I have met many young people saying they want to go into the field of medicine; however, their reasons many times are motivated by fiscal benefits. I always heard my mother say, “once you're older, you can ask Li Shu Shu for help.” Every time Li Shu Shu talked about his work, he spoke about it with a genuine voice and a caring manner that seemed preciously rare. It feels very superficial to be determined from a young age to do medicine, but in case I do become a doctor, I want to be one like Li Shu Shu. Even though this might not happen because of my conflicting interests, I hope I can make a difference, as Li Shu Shu did, whether it is through my writing, cooking, or my non-profits.
When I was young, I was always a chubby boy, so my mom had a hard time finding formal clothes for my concerts. Hu Min Ayi had a quick fix. She dug into Li Shu Shu’s closet and found things that I could wear. At the funeral, I wore a dress shirt from Li Shu Shu, a shirt I had outgrown since last year. It felt very small and tight for the whole day, but it was the only shirt I wanted to wear as Li Shu Shu’s pallbearer.
Like Li Shu Shu, I am also a foodie. Cooking has been my passion since I was eight, and Hu Min Ayi has been the most enthusiastic supporter of my interests, always getting me cooking gadgets and ingredients my mom didn’t have time to hunt for me. Knowing Li Shu Shu was at home and would taste my food, I always put extra effort into my cooking to impress him. My parents saw Li Shu Shu on his last bike ride with Lori and Stephnie in our neighborhood park. “Tell Timmy a big thank you for all the food he has been making for us.” Li Shu Shu said before he rode away. “Zhen hao chi!” When I bring food over for Hu Min Ayi in the future, I know Li Shu Shu would look down upon me and say, “zhen hao chi,” in the same enthusiastic, affectionate voice I first heard years ago, at the door steps of their house, when he patted me on my chubby round head styling a super short buzz cut.
There are many things that will remind me of Li Shu Shu, but having regrets will not be on that list. Giving his all to everything he did, Li Shu Shu worked hard, loved his family whole-heartedly, cared for other people passionately, and enjoyed life to the fullest. My young life has been blessed with many precious memories of Li Shu Shu, and I will continue to impress him by doing the best I can for myself and the world.
