The Obedient Child

One woman's decision changed the course of her Ting family for generationsWhen Chwen Erl got on a plane boundfor the United States at the age of 19, notonly had she never flown before, she hadnever been outside of Taiwan. Havinglived through the Japanese occupationof her country, the second World War, and then Chinese government rule, shewas no stranger to change. But with adream of an American education anda scholarship to attend a university inAtchison, Kansas, she left behind herfamily and everything she knew andstepped into the unknown under a new name, Joyce.Years later, a chance meeting with notable author AlanDrury sparked within Joyce Marleau a dream to write down her extraordinarylife story in a book. The Obedient Child is the realization ofthat dream, more than two decades in the making.Journey with Joyce through Asia and the United States in The Obedient ChildFrom the Introduction: "It was hot and humid that morning on the train.Hotter than I was used to. I had forgotten how hot Japan can be in thesummer. But then again, it could have just been nerves. It had been solong since I had seen any of these people, over 40 years! How would theyfeel about me after all this time? What would we have to talk about?Would I even still be able to remember the language?The train stopped in front of a large department store. This wasmy stop. I knew if I cut through the basement, then ran upstairs to themain street, that I would be able to save myself some time and get tothe meeting place quickly. I did not want to be late.The basement was full of bolts of fabric, and I was weaving in andout of them, making pretty good time, when all of a sudden somethingstopped me in my tracks. I had caught the tiniest whiff of a smell, something familiar. I reached over and grabbed one of the bolts offabric. It was an inexpensive roll of dyed cloth, but the smell was sostrong; that dye, that chemical, so familiar, but I just couldn't place it.I leaned my head against a nearby pillar, closed my eyes, and reachedback into my memory.As I stood there with my eyes closed, holding the fabric up to mynose, a wave of emotions swept over me. I finally recalled what it was.This was the smell of my mother. This fabric, used to make everydaycommon kimonos worn by Japanese women, was also worn by mymother every time she took me shopping, when we went on outings, and when we met up with her friends who also wore these informalkimonos and smelled like this. I had to hold on to the pillar for balance, as all of the memories came flooding back to my mind." Read more